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Full text of "The attaché, or, Sam Slick in England [microform]"




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Duplex libelli dos est ; quod risum movet, 
Et quod prudenti vitain consilio monet. 






Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. 

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t'other EEND of THE GUN 















































THE patron; or, the cow's tail 

















BUNKUM • . . . 





















































































OUR OWN ..... 294 








































































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We left New York in the afternoon of day of May, 

184 — , and embarked on board of the good packet- ship 
* Tyler' for England. Our party consisted of the Reverend 
Mr. Hopewell, Samuel Slick, Esq., myself, and Jube Japan, 
a black servant of the Attache. 

I love brevity — I am a man of few words, and, therefore, 
constitutionally economical of them ; but brevity is apt to dege- 
nerate into obscurity. Writing a book, however, and book- 
making, are two very different things. " Spinning a yarn" is 
mechanical, and book- making savours of trade, and is the em- 
ployment of a manufacturer. The author by profession, weaves 
his web by the piece, and as there is much competition in this 
branch of trade, extends it over the greatest possible surface, so 
as to make the most of his raw material. Hence every work of 
fancy is made to reach to three volumes, otherwise it will not 
pay, and a manufacture that does not requite the cost of pro- 
duction, invariably and inevitably terminates in bankruptcy. 

thought, therefore, like a pound of cotton, must be well 
b^un out to be valuable. It is very contemptuous to say of a 
man^ that he has but one idea, but it is the highest meed of 
praise that can be bestowed on a book. A man, who writes 
thus, can write for ever. 




THE attache; 

Now, it is not only not my intention to write for ever, or as 
Mr. Slick would say " for everlastinly ;'* but to make my 
bow and retire very soon from the press altogether. I might 
assign many reasons for this modest course, all of them plausi- 
ble, and some of them indeed quite dignified. I like dignity : 
any man who has lived the greater part of his life in a colony 
is 80 accustomed to it, that he becomes quite enamoured of it, 
and wrapping himself up in it as a cloak, stalks abroad the 
" observed of all observers." I could undervalue this species 
of writing if I thought proper, affect a contempt for idiomatic 
humour, or hint at the employment being inconsistent with 
the grave discharge of important official duties, which are so 
distressingly onerous, as not to leave me a moment for recrea- 
tion ; but these airs, though dignified, will unfortunately not 
avail me. I shall put my dignity into my pocket, therefore, 
and disclose the real cause of this diffidence. 

In the year one thousand eight hundred and fourteen, I 
embarked at Halifax on board the ' Buffalo' store-ship for 
England. She was a noble teak-built ship of twelve or thir- 
teen hundred tons burden, had excellent accommodation, and 
carried over to merry Old England, a very merry party of 
passengers, quorum parva pars fui, a youngster just emerged 
from college. 

On the banks of Newfoundland we were becalmed, and the 
passengers amused themselves by throwing overboard a bottle, 
and shooting at it with ball. The guns used for this occasion, 
were the King's muskets, taken from the arm-chest on the 
quarter-deck. The shooting was execrable. It was hard to 
say which were worse marksmen, the officers of the ship, or 
the passengers. Not a bottle was hit. Many reasons were 
offered for this failure, but the two principal ones were, that 
the muskets were bad, and that it required great skill to 
overcome the difficulty occasioned by both the vessel and the 
bottle being in motion at the same time, and that motion 

I lost my patience. I had never practised shooting with 
ball ; I had frightened a few snipe, and wounded a few par- 
tridges, but that was the extent of my experience. I knew, 
however, that I could not by any possibility shoot worse than 
everybody else had done, and might by accident shoot better. 

" Give me a gun. Captain,'* said I, " and I will show you 
how to uncork that bottle." 




er, or as 
lake my 
I might 
1 plausi- 
dignity : 
a colony 
'ed of it, 
road the 
8 species 
ent with 
h are so 
>r recrea- 
ately not 

lurteen, I 
-ship for 
B or thir- 
ition, and 
party of 

, and the 
. a bottle, 
ist on the 
s hard to 
3 ship, or 
ions were 
vere, that 
skill to 
il and the 
it motion 

ting with 
I few par- 
I knew, 
orse than 
Dt better, 
show you 

I took the musket, but its weight was beyond my strength 
of arm. I was afraid that I could not hold it out steadily, 
even for a moment, it was so very heavy — I threw it up with a 
desperate effort and fired. The neck of the bottle flew into 
the air a full yard, and then disappeared. I was amazed my- 
self at my success. Everybody was surprised, but as every- 
body attributed it to long practice, they were not so much 
astonished as I was, who knew it was wholly owing to chance. 
It was a lucky hit, and I made the most of it ; success made 
me arrogant, and boy-like, I became a boaster. 

" Ah,'* said I coolly, " you must be bom with a rifle in your 
hand. Captain, to shoot well. Everybody shoots well in 
America. I do not call myself a good shot. I have not had 
the requisite experience ; but there are those who can take out 
the eye of a squirrel at a hundred yards/' 

•' Can you see the eye of a squirrel at that distance ?" said 
the Captain, with a knowing wink of his own little ferret eye. 

That question, which raised a general laugh at my expense, 
was a puzzler. The absurdity of the story, which I had 
heard a thousand times, never struck me so forcibly. But I 
was not to be put down so easily. 

" See it!" said I, " why not? Try it, and y^u will find 
your sight improve with your shooting. Now, I can't boast 
of being a good marksman myself ; my studies " (and here I 
looked big, for I doubted if he could even read, much less con- 
strue a chapter in the Greek Testament) " did not leave me 
much time. A squirrel is too small an object for all but an 
experienced man, but a large mark like a quart bottle can 
easily be hit at a hundred yards — that is nothing." 

•• I will take you a bet," said he, " of a doubloon, you do 
not do it again." 

** Thank you," I replied with great indifference : " I never 
bet, and besides, that gun has so injured my shoulder, that I 
could not, if I would." 

By that accidental shot, I obtained a great name as a marks- 
man, and by prudence I retained it all the voyage. This is 
precisely my case now, gentle reader. I made an accidental 
hit with the Clockmaker : when he ceases to speak, I shall 
cease to write. The little reputation I then acquired, I do not 
intend to jeopardize by trying too many experiments. I 
know that it was chance^ — many people think it was skill. 
If they choose to think so, they have a right to their opinion 

B 2 


^ v.t fi. ».% 

THE attache; 




and that opinion is fame. I value this reputation too highly 
not to take care of it. 

As I do not intend then to write often, I shall not wire- 
draw my subjects, for the mere purpose of filling my pages. 
Still a book should be perfect within itself, and intelligible 
without reference to other books. Authors are vain people, 
and vanity as well as dignity is indigenous to a colony. Like a 
pastry-cook's apprentice, I see so much of both these sweet things 
around me daily, that I have no appetite for either of them. 

I might perhaps be pardoned, if I took it for granted, that 
the dramatis personse of this work were sufficiently known, not 
to require a particular introduction. Dickens assumed the 
fact that his book on America would travel wherever the English 
language was spoken, and, therefore, called it " Notes fot 
General Circulation.*' Even Colonists say, that this was too 
bad, and if they say so, it must be so. I shedl, therefore, 
briefly state, who and what the persons are that composed our 
travelling party, as if they were wholly unknown to fame, and 
then leave them to speak for themselves. 

The Reverend Mr. Hopewell is a very aged clergyman of 
the Church of England, and was educated at Cambridge^ €f^ 
lege, in Massachusetts. Previously to the revolution, he vras 
appointed rector of a small parish in Connecticut. "When the 
colonies obtained their independence, he remained with his 
little flock in his native land, and continued to minister to their 
spiritual wants until within a few years, when his parishioners 
becoming Unitarians, gave him his dismissal. Affable in his 
manners and simple in his habits, with a mind well stored with 
human lore, and a heart full of kindness for his fellow- crea- 
tures, he was at once an agreeable and an instructive com- 
panion. Bom and educated in the United States, when they 
were British dependencies, and possessed of a thorough know- 
ledge of the causes which led to the rebellion, and the means 
used to hEisten the crisis, he was at home on tdl colonial topics ; 
while his great experience of both monarchical and demo- 
cratical governments, derived from a long residence in both, 
made him a most valuable authority on politics generally. 

Mr. Samuel Slick is a native of the same parish, and received 
his education from Mr. Hopewell. I first became acquainted 
with him while travelling in Nova Scotia. He was then a 
manufacturer and vendor of wooden clocks. My first impres- 
sioii of him was by no means favourable. He forced himself 




\ r 


Ive com- 

most unceremoniously into my company and conversation. I 
was disposed to shake him off, but could not. Talk he would, 
and as his talk was of that kind which did not require much 
reply on my part, he took my silence for acquiescence, and 
talked on. 1 soon found that he was a character ; and, as he 
knew every part of the lower colonies, and everybody in them, 
I employed him as my guide. >« ^rJ'^^i'l^ ' < ■> • *• •' 

I have made at different times three several tours with him, 
the iiesults of which I have given in three several series of a 
work entitled the " Clockmaker, or the Sayings and Doings of 
Mr. Samuel Slick." Our last tour terminated at New York, 
where, in consequence of the celebrity he obtained from these 
" Sayings and Doings" he received the appointment of Attach^ 
to the American Legation at the Court of St. James's. The 
object of this work is to continue the record of his observations 
and proceedings in England. 

The third person of the party, gentle reader, is your humble 
servant, Thomas Poker, Esquire, a native of Nova Scotia, and 
a retired member of the Provincial bar. My name will seldom 
appear in these pages, as I am uniformly addressed by both my 
companions as " Squire," nor shall I have to perform the dis- 
agreeable task of *' reporting my own speeches," for naturally 
taciturn, I delight in listening rather than talking, and modestly 
prefer the duties of an amanuensis, to the responsibilities of 
original composition. • r . ); 

The last personage is Jube Japan, a black servant of the 

Such are the persons who composed the little party that 
embarked at New York, on board the packet- ship * Tyler,' and 
sailed on the of May, 184 — , for England. 

The motto prefixed to this work 


fUtatit fivriftova Sv/xirorqv. 

sufEciently explains its character. Classes and not individuals 
have been selected for observation. National traits are fair 
subjects for satire or for praise, but personal peculiarities claim 
the privilege of exemption in right of that hospitality, through 
whose medium they have been alone exhibited. Public topics 
are public property ; everybody has a right to use them 
without leave and without apology. It is only when we quit 
the limite of this '* common" and enter upon " private grounds," 




that we are guilty of "a trespass." This distinction is alike 
obvious to good sense and right feeling. I have endeavoured 
to keep it constantly in view ; and if at any time I shall be sup- 
posed to have erred (I say " supposed," for I am unconscious 
of having done so) I must claim the indulgence always granted 
to involuntary offences . nli s > . . v 

Now, the patience of my reader may fairly be considered a 
" private right/* I shall, therefore, respect its boundaries 
and proceed at once with my narrative, having been already 
quite long enough about " uncorking a bottle." 


I I 




. isflli I-' 

All our preparations for the voyage having been completed, 
we spent the last day at our disposal, in visiting Brooklyn. The 
weather was uncommonly fine, the sky being perfectly clear and 
unclouded ; and though the sun shone out brilliantly, the heat 
was tempered by a cool, bracing, westwardly wind. Its 
influence was perceptible on the spirits of everybody on board 
the ferry-boat that transported us across the harbour. , - 

" Squire," said Mr. Slick, " aint this as pretty a day as you'll 
see atween this and Nova Scotia? — You can't beat American 
weather, when it chooses, in no part of the world I've ever 
been in yet. This day is a tip-topper, and it's the last we'll 
see of the kind till we get back agin, I know. Take a fool's 
advice, for once, and stick to it, as long as there is any of it 
left, for you'll see the difference when you get to England. 
There never was so rainy a place in the univarse, as that, I 
don't think, unless it's Ireland, and the only difference atween 
them two is that it rains every day amost in England, and m 
Ireland it rains every day and every night too. It's awful, 
and you must keep out of a country-house in such weather, or 
you'U go for it; it will kill you, that's sartain. I shall never 
forget a juicy day I once spent in one of them dismal old 
places. I'll tell you how I came to be there. 

" The last time I was to England, I was a dinin' with our 
consul to Liverpool, and a very gentleman- like old man he 
was too ; he was appointed by Washington, and had been there 


I f 


ever since our glorious revolution. Folks gave him a great 
name, they said be was a credit to us. Well, I met at his 
table one day an old country squire, that lived somewhere 
down in Shropshire, close on to Wales, and says he to me, 
arter cloth was ofF and cigars on, ' Mr. Slick,' says he, ' I'll be 
very glad to see you to Norman Manor,' (that was the place 
where he staid, when he was to home). ' If you will return 
with me I shall be glad to show you the country in my neigh- 
bourhood, which is said to be considerable pretty.' 

•* ' Well,' says I, ' as I have nothin' above particular to see 
to. I don't care if I do go.' 

" So off we started ; and this I will say, he was as kind as 
he cleverly knew how to be, and that is sayin' a great deal for 
a man that didn't know nothin' out of sight of his own clearin' 

" Now, when we got there, the house was chock full of 
company, and considerin' it wam't an overly large one, and 
that Britishers won't stay in a house, unless every feller gets 
a separate bed. it's a wonder to me, how he stowed away as 
many as he did. Says he, ' Excuse your quarters, Mr. Slick, 
but I find more company nor I expected here. In a day or 
two, some on 'em will be off, and then you shall be better 

" With that I was showed up a great staircase, and out o' 
that by a door- way into a narrer entry, and from that into an 
old J, like looking building, that stuck out behind the house. 
It wam't the common company sleepin' room, I expect, but 
kinder make shifts, tho' they was good enough too for the 
matter o' that ; at all events I don't want no better. '^ 

"Well, I had hardly got well housed a' most, afore it came 
on to rain, as if it was in rael right down aimest. It wam't 
just a roarin', racin,' sneezin' rain like a thunder shower, but 
it kept a steady travellin' gait, up hill and down dale, and no 
breathin' time nor batin' spell. It didn't look as if it would 
stop till it was done, that's a fact. But still as it was too late 
to go out agin that artemoon, I didn't think much about it 
then. I hadn't no notion what was in store for me next day. 
no more nor a child ; if I had, I'd a double deal sooner hanged 
myself, than gone brousing in such place as that, in sticky 

*' A wet day is considerable tiresome, any where or any 
way you can fix it ; but it's wus at an English country-house 





TH£ attache; 

than any where else, cause you are among strangers, formal, 
cold, gallus polite, and as thick in the head-piece as a puncheon. 
You hante uothin' to do yourself, and they never have nothin' 
to do ; they don't know nothin' about America, and don^ 
want to. Your talk don't interest them, and they can't talk 
to interest nobody but themselves ; all you've got to do, is 
to pull out your watch and see how time goes ; how much of 
the day is left, and then go to the winder and s6e how the 
sky looks, and whether there is any chance of holdin* up or 
no. Well, that time I went to bed a little airlier than com- 
mon, for I felt considerable sleepy, and considerable strange 
too ; so as soon as ( cleverly could, I off and turned in. 

" Well I am an airly riser myself. I always was from a 
boy, so I . waked up jist about the time when day ought to 
break, and was a thinkin' to get up ; but the shutters was 
too, and it was as dark as ink in the room, and I heer'd it 
rainin' away for dear life. ' So,' sais I to myself, ' what the 
dogs is the use of gittin' up so airly ? I can't get out and get 
a smoke, and I can't do nothin' here; so here goes for a 
second nap.' Well I was soon off agin in a most a beautiful 
of a snore, when all at once I heard thump — thump agin the 
shutter — and the most horrid noise I ever heerd since I was 
raised ; it was sunthin' quite onairthly. 

"'Hallo!' says I to myself, 'what in natur is all this 
hubbub about? Can this here confounded old bouse be 
hamted ? Is them spirits that's jabbering gibberish there, or 
is I wide awake or no ?' So I sets right up on my hind legs 
in bed, rubs my eyes, opens my ears and listens agin, when 
whop went every shutter agin, with a dead heavy sound, like 
somethin' or another thrown agin 'em, or fallin' agin 'em, and 
then comes the unknown tongues in discord chorus like. Sais 
I, * I know now, it's them cussed navigators. They've besot 
the house, and are a givin' lip to frighten folks. It's regular 
banditti.' ■h.^i ;ioyt 'v - -■ • o.^ •■.■.v.>/l''"" ■ 

" So I jist hops out of bed, and feels for my trunk, and oub 
with my talkin' irons, that was all ready loaded, pokes my way 
to the winder — shoves the sash up and outs with the shutter, 
ready to let slip among 'em. And what do you think it was ? 
—Hundreds and hundreds of them nasty, dirty, filthy, ugly, 
black devils of rooks, located in the trees at the back eend of 
the house. Old Nick couldn't have slept near 'em ; caw, caw, 
caw, all mixtup together in one jumble of a sound, like ' jawe."* 


" ' You black, evil-lookin*, foul-mouthed villains,' saia I, ' I'd 
like no better sport than jist to sit here, all this blessed day 
with these pistols, and drop you one arter another, / know.' 
But they was pets, was them rouks, and of course like all pets, 
everlastin' nuisances to everybody else. 

" Well, when a man's in a feeze, there's no more sleep that 
hitch ; so I dresses and sits up ; but what was I to do ? It 
was jist half-past four, and as it was a rainin' like everything, 
I know'd breakfast wouldn't be ready till eleven o'clock, for 
nobody wouldn't get up if they could help it — they wouldn't 
be such fools ; so there was jail for six hours and a half. 

" Well, 1 walked up and down the room, as easy as I could, 
not to waken folks ; but three steps and a round turn makes 
you kinder dizzy, so I sits down again to chaw the cud of 

*' ' Aint this a handsum' fix V sals I, ' but it sarves you 
right, what busniss had you here at all ? you always was a 
fool, and always will be to the eend of the chapter. — ' What 
in natur are you a scolding' for ?' sais I : ' that won't mend 
the matter ; how's time ? They must soon be a stirrin' now, I 
guess.' Well, as I am a livin' sinner, it was only five o'clock ; 
' oh dear,' sais I, ' time is like women and pigs, the more you 
want it to go, the more it won't. What on airth shall I do ? — 
guess, I'll strap my rasor.' 

" Well, I strapped and strapped away, until it would cut 
a single hair pulled strait up on eend out o' your head, without 
bendin' it — take it off slick. ' Now,' sais I, 'I'll mend my 
trowsers I tore, a goin' to see the ruin on the road yesterday ;' 
so I takes out Sister Sail's little needle-^ase, and sows away 
till I got them to look considerable jam agin ; ' and then/ sais 
I, ' here's a gallus button off, I'll jist fix that,* and when that 
was done, there was a hole to my yam sock, so I turned too 
and darned that. 

" ' Now,' sais I, ' how goes it ? I'm considerable sharp set. 
It must be gettin' tolerable late now.' It wanted a quarter 
to six. ' My ! sakes,' sais I, ' five hours and a quarter yet 
afore feedin' time ; well if that don't pass. What shall I do 
next ?' ' I'll tell you what to do,* sais I, ' smoke, that will 
take the edge of your appetite off, and if they dont like it. they 
may lump it ; what business have they to keep them horrid 
screetchin' infamal sleepless rooks to disturb people that way ?' 
Well, I takes a lucifer, and lights a cigar, and I puts my head 



THE attaciik; 

up the chimbly to let the smoke off, and it felt good, I promise 

?ou. I don't know as I ever enjoyed one half so much afore, 
t had a rael first chop flavour had that cigar. 

" When that was done, sais I, ' What do you say to 
another ?' ' Well, I don't know,' sais I, ' I should like it. 
that's a fact ; but holdin' of my head crooked up chimbly that 
way, has a' most broke my neck ; I've got the cramp in it like.' 

" So I sot, and shook iny head first a one side and then the 
other, and then turned it on its hinges as far as it would go, till 
it felt about right, and then I lights another, and puts my 
head in the flue again. 

" Well, smokin' makes a feller feel kinder good-natured, 
and I began to think it warn't quite so bad arter all, when 
whop went my cigar right out of my mouth into my bosom, 
atween the shirt and the skin, and burnt me like a gaily 
nipper. Both my eyes was fiU'd at the same time, and I got 
a crack on the pate from some critter or another that clawed 
and scratched my head like any thing, and then seemed to 
empty a bushel of sut on me. and I looked like a chimbly 
sweep, and felt like old Scratch himself. My smoke had 
brought down a chimbly swaller, or a martin, or some such 
varmint, for it up and off agin' afore I could catch it, to wring 
its infamal neck off, that's a fact. 

" Well, here was somethin' to do, and no mistake : here was 
to clean and groom up agin' till all was in its right shape ; and 
a pretty job it was, I tell you. I thought I never should get 
the sut out of my hair, and then never get it out of my brush 
again, and my eyes smarted so, they did nothin' but water, 
and wink, and make faces. But I did ; I worked on and 
worked on, till all was sot right once more. 

" ' Now,' sais I, • how's time ?' 'half-past seven, 'sais I, ' and 
three hours and a half more yet to breakfsust. Well,' sais I, 
' I can't stand this — and what's more I won't : I begin to get 
my Ebenezer up, and feel wolfish. I'll rin^ up the handsum 
chamber-maid, and just fall to, and chaw her right up — I'm 
savagerous.'* ' That's cowardly, sais I, ' call the footman, pick 

♦ The word "savagerous" is not of "Yankee" but of "Western 
origin." — Its use in this place is best explained by the following extract 
from the Third Series of the Clockmaker. " In order that the sketch 
which I am now about to give may be fully understood, it may be qeees- 
sary to request the reader to recollect that Mr. Slick is a Yankee, a desig- 
nation, the origin of which is now not verv obvious, but it has beeh 



a quarrel with him, and kick him down stairs, speak but one 
word to him, and let that be strong enough to skin the coon 
arter it has killed him, the noise will wake up folks / know, 
and then we shall have sunthin' to eat.' 

" I was ready to bile right over, when as luck would have; 
it, the rain stopt all of a sudden, the suu broke out >>* prison, 
and I thought I never seed any thing look su green and so 
beautiful as the country did. • Come,* sais I, ' now for a walk 
down the avenue, and a comfortable smoke, and if the man at 
the gate is up and stirrin', I will just pop in and breakfast with 
him and his wife. There is some natur there, but here it's all 
cussed rooks and chimbly swallers, rftad heavy men and fat 
women, and lazy helps, and Sunday every day in the week/ 
So I fills my cigar-case and outs mto the passage. 

" But here was a fix ! One of the doors opened into the 
great staircase, and which was it ? ' Ay.' sais I, 'which is it» 

assumed by, and conceded by common consent to, the inhabitants of New 
England. It is a name, though sometimes satirically used, of which they 
have great reason to be proud, as it is descriptive of a most cultivated, 
intelligent, enterprising, frugal, and industrious population, who may well 
challenge a comparison with the inhabitants of any other country in the 
world ; but it has only a local application. 

" The United States cover an immense extent of territory, and the in- 
habitants of different parts of the Union differ as widely in character, 
feelings, and even in appearance, as the people of different countries 
usually do.' These sections differ also in dialect and in humour, as much 
as in other things, and to as great, if not a greater extent, than the 
natives of different parts of Great Britain vary from each other. It is 
customary in Europe to call all Americans, Yankees ; but it is as much a 
misnomer as it would be to call all Europeans Frenchmen. Throughout 
these works it will he observed, that Mr. Slick's pronunciation is that of 
the Yankee, or an inhabitant of the rurul districts of New England. His 
conversation is generally purely so ; but in some instances he uses, as his 
countrymen frequently do from choice, phrases which, though American- 
isms, are not of Eastern origin. Wholly to exclude these would be to 
violate the usages of American life ; to introduce them oftener would be 
to confound two dissimilar dialects, and to make an equal departure from 
the truth. Every section has its own characteristic dialect, a very small 
portion of which it has imparted to its neighbours. The dry, quaint 
humour of New England is occasionally found in the west, and the rich 
gasconade and exaggerative language of the west migrates not unfrequently 
to the east. This idiomatic exchange is perceptibly on the increase. I 
arises from the travelling propensities of the Americans, and the constant 
intercourse mutually maintained by the inhabitants of the different 
States. A droll or an original. expression is thus imported and adopted, 
and, though not indigenous, soon becomes engrafted on the general stock 
of the language of the country." — 3rd Seriesy p. 142. 



■•y^ .- 



do you know ?' * Upon my soul, I don't know/ sais I ; ' but 
try, it's no use to be caged up here like a painter, and out I 
will, that's a fact.' 

" So I stops and studies, ' that's it,' sais I, and I opens a 
door : it was a bed-room — it was the likely chambermaid's. 

" ' Softly, Sir,' sais she, a puttin' of her finger on her lip, 
' don't make no noise ; Missus will hear you.' 

" ' Yes,' sais I, ' I won't make no noise ;' and I outs and 
shuts the door too arter me gently. 

•' • What next f sais I ; ' why you fool, you,' sais I, ' why 
didn't you ax the sarvant maid, which door it was ?' * Why 
I was so conflastrigated,' sais I, ' I didn'c think of it. Try 
that door,' well I opened another, it belonged to one o' the 
horrid hansum stranger gEdls that dined at table yesterday. 
When she seed me, she gave a scream, popt her head onder 
the clothes, like a terrapin, and vanished — well I vanished 

too. ;<i ' 

" ' Ain't this too bad V sais I ; ' I wish I could open a mto's 
door, I'd lick him out of spite ; I hope I may be shot if I don't, 
and I doubled up my fist, for I didn't like it a spec, and opened 
another door — it was the housekeeper's. ' Come,' sais I, ' I 
won't be balked no mor^.' She sot up and fixed, her cap. A 
woman never forgets the becomins. 

" ' Any thing I can do for you. Sir ?' sus she, and she raelly 
did look pretty ; all good-natur'd people, it appears to me, do 

look so. ■■h.fi^''-^-iQ'\S'-:p' 

" 'Will you be so good as to tell me, which door leads to 
the staircase, Marm ?' sais I. 

'*' Oh, is that all?' sais she, (I suppose, she thort I wanted 
her to get up and get breakfast for me,) ' it's the first on the 
^ght, and she fixed her cap agin' and laid down, and I took 
the first on the right and off like a blowed-out candle. There 
was the staircase. I walked down, took my hat, onbolted the 
outer door, and what a beautiful day was there. I lit my cigar, 
I breathed freely, and I strolled down the avenue. ibiJ?i 

" The bushes glistened, and the grass glistened, and the air 
was sweet, and the birds sung, and there was natur' once more. 
I walked to the lodge ; they had breakfasted had the old folks, 
so I chattered away with them for a considerable of a spell 
about matters and things in general, and then turned tow&^s 
the house agin'. ' Hallo !' sais I, ' what's this ? warn't that a 
drop of rain V I looks up, it was another shower by Gosh. I 
pulh foot for dear life : it was tall walking you may depend^ 



i I outs and 

but the shower wins, (comprehensive as my legs be), and down 
it comes, as hard as all possest. ' Take it easy, Sam,' sais I, 
' your flint is fixed ; you are wet thro' — runnin* won't dry you,' 
and I settled down to a careless walk, quite desperate. 

" ' Nothin' in natur', unless it is an Ingin, is so treacherous 
as the climate here. It jist clears up on purpose I do believe, 
to tempt you out without your umbreller, and jist as sure as 
you trust it and leave it to home, it clouds right up, and sarves 
you out for it — it does indeed. What a sight of new clothes 
I've spilte here, for the rain has a sort of dye in it. It stains 
so, it alters the colour of the cloth, for the smoke is filled with 
gas and all sorts of chemicals. Well, back I goes to my room 
agin' to the rooks, cbimbly swallers, and all, leavin* a great 
endurin' streak of wet arter me all the way, like a cracked 
pitcher that leaks ; onri^s, and puts on dry clothes from head 
to foot. 

" By this time breakfast is ready ; but the English don't do 
nothin' like other folks ; I don't know whether it's affectation, 
ot" bein* wrong in the head — a little of both I guess. Now, 
where do you suppose the solid part of breakfast is, Squire i 
Why, it's on the sideboard — I hope I may be shot if it ain't— 
well, the tea and coffee are on the table, to make it as oncon- 
venient as possible. ^"■':n; -«! .>;,iT,^-ij;; ; ai 'u.m:M^' 

*' Sais I, to the lady of the house, as I got up to help 
myself, for I was hungry enough to make beef ache I know, 
' Aunty,' sais I, * you'll excuse me, but why don't you put the 
eatables on the table, or else put the tea on the sideboard ? 
They're like man and wife, they don't ought to be separated, 
them two.' 

"She looked at me. oh what a look of pity it was, as much 
as to say, ' Where have you been all your born days, not to 
know better nor that ? — but I guess you don't know better in 
the States — how could you know anything there V But she 
only said it was the custom here, for she was a very purlite old 
woman, was Aunty. 

*' Well, sense is sense, let it grow where it will, and I guess 
we raise about the best kind, which is common sense, and I 
wam't to be put down with short metre, arter that fashion. 
So I tried the old man ; sais I, * Uncle,' sais I, ' if you will 
divorce the eatables from the drinkables that way, why not let 
the sarvants come and tend. It's monstrous onconvenient and 
ridikilous to be a jumpin' up for everlastinly that way ; you 
can't sit still one blessed minit.' .. . 





THE attacuk; 

" ' We think it pleasant,' said he, ' sometimes to dispense 
with their attendance/ 

** ' Exactly,' sais I, ' ^hen dispense with sarvants at dinner, 
for when the wine is in, the wit is out.' (I said that to com- 
pliment him, for the critter had no wit in at no time,) ' and 
they hear all the talk. But at breakfast every one is only half 
awake, (especially when you rise so airly as you do in this 
country,' sais I, but the old critter couldn't see a joke, even if 
he felt it, and he clidn't know I was a funnin'.) ' Folks are 
considerably sharp set at breakfast,' sais I, ' and not very 
> talkative. That's the right time to have sarvants to tend on 

" ' What an idea !' said he, and he puckered up his pictur, 
and the way he stared was a caution to an owl. 

"Well, we sot and sot till I was tired, so thinks I, 'what's 
next ? for it's rainin' agin as hard as ever.* So I took a turn 
in the study to sarch for a book, but there was nothin' there, 
but a Guide to the Sessions, Bum's Justice, and a book of 
London club rules, and two or three novels. He said he got 
books from the sarkilatin* library. 

"• Lunch is ready.' ' ' 

" • What, eatin' agin ? My goody !' thinks I, * if you are so 
fond of it, why the plague don't you begin airly ? If you'd a 
had it at five o'clock this morning, I'd a done justice to it ; 
now I couldn't touch it if I was to die/ 

" There it was, though. Help yourself, and no thanks, for 
there is no sarvants agin. The rule here is, no talk no sar- 
vants — and when it's all talk, it's all sarvants. 

" Thinks I to myself, ' now, what shall I do till dinner- 
time, for it rains so there is no stirrin* out ? — ^Waiter, where is 
eldest son ? — he and I will have a game of billiards, I guess.' 

'* * He is lapng down. Sir.' 

" ' Shows his sense,' sais I, ' I see, he is not the fool I took 
him to be. If I could sleep in the day, I'de turn in too. 
Where is second son ?' ' 

" * Left this mornin* in the close carriage, Sir.' 

" ' Oh cuss him, it was him then was it ?' 

"•What, Sir?' 

" * That woke them confounded rooks up, out o' their fust 
nap, and kick't up such a bobbery. Where is the Parson ?' 

"• Which one. Sir, ?' 

*' ' The one that's so fond of fishing.' 

" ' Ain't up yet, Sir.' 



" • Well the old boy, that wore breeches.* 

" * Out on a sick visit to one of the cottages, Sir.* 

" ' When he comes in, send him to roe, I'm shocking sick.* 

" With that I goes to look arter the two pretty galls in the 
drawing' room ; and there was the ladies a chatterin' away 
like any thing. The moment I came in it was as dumb as a 
quaker's meetin*. They all hauled up at once, like a stage- 
coach to an inn-door, from a hand-gallop to a stock still stand. 
I seed men wam't wanted there, it wam't the custom so ahrly, 
so I polled out o' that creek, stam first. They don't like men 
in the momin', in England, do the ladies ; they think *em in 
the way. 

" ' What on airth, shall I do ?' says I, ' it's nothin* but rain, 
rain, rain, rain, here — in this awful dismal country. Nobody 
smokes, nobody talks, nobody plays cards, nobody fires at a 
mark, and nobody trades ; only let me get thro' this juicy day, 
and I am done : let me get out of this scrape, and if I am 
caught agin, I'll give you leave to tell me of it, in meetin*. It 
tante pretty, I do suppose to be a jawin' with the butler, but I'll 
make an excuse for a talk, for talk comes kinder nateral to 
me, like suction to a snipe.' 

" • Waiter ?' 


" * Galls don't like to be tree'd here of a momin' do they ?' 

" 'Sir.' 

*' * It's usual for the ladies,* sais I, 'to be together in the 
airly part of the forenoon here, ain't it, afore the gentlemen 
jine them V 

" ' Yes, Sir.* 

" ' It puts me in mind,* sais I, * of the old seals down lo 
Sable Island — you know where Sable Isle is, don*t you V 

" ' Yes, Sir, it's in the cathedral down here.* 

" • No, no, not that, it's an island on the coast of Nova 
Scotia. You know where that is sartainly.' 

" * I never heard of it, Sir.* 

" ' Well, Lord love you ! you know what an old seal is ?' 

" ' Oh, yes. Sir, I'll get you my master's in a moment.' 

" ' And off he sot full chisel. 

" Cus him ! he is as stupid as a rook, that crittur, it's no use 
to tell him a story ; and now I think of it, I will go and smoke 
them black irnps of darkness, — the rooks.* 

" So I goes up stairs, as slowly as I cleverly could, jist 





liftin' one foot arter another as if it had a fifty- six tied to it, 
on puppus to spend time ; lit a cigar, opened the window nearest 
the rooks, and smoked, but oh the rain killed all the smoke in 
a minite; it didn't even make one on 'em sneeze. ' Dull 
musick this, Sam,' sais I, ' ain't it? TeU you what : Til put 
on my ile-skin, take an umbreller and go and talk to the stable 
helps, for I feel as lonely as a catamount, and as dull as a 
bachelor beaver. So I trampousses off to the stable, and sais 
I to ^.he head man, 'A smart little boss that,' sais I, ' you are 
a cleaning of : he looks like a first chop article that.' v • 

" ' Y mae',' sais he. 

'* ' Hullo,' sais I, ' what in natur' is this ? Is it him that 
can't speak English or me that can't onderstand ? for one on 
us is a fool, that's sartain. I'll try him agin.' 

**So I sais to him, 'He looks,' sais I, * as if he'd trot a 
considerable good stick, that horse/ sais I, ' I guess he is a 

*' Y' mae, ye un trotter da,' sais he. 

" • Creation !' sais I, ' if this don't beat gineral traimn'. I 
have heerd in my time, broken French, broken Scotch, broken 
Irish, broken Yankee, broken Nigger, and broken Indgin; 
but I have beam two pure genewine languages to-day, and no 
mistake, rael rook, and rael Britton, and I don't exactly know 
which I like wus. It's no use to stand talkin' to this critter. 
Good- bye,' sais I. 

'• Now what do you think he said ? Why, you would 
suppose he'd say good-bye too, wouldn't you ? Well, he 
didn't, nor nothin' like it, but he jist ups, and sais, * For- 
welloaugh,' he did, upon my soul. I never felt so stumpt 
afore' in all my life, Sais I, ' Friend, here is half a dollar 
for you ; it arn't often I'm brought to a dead stare, and when 
I am, I am willin' to pay for it.' 

'* There's two languages. Squire' that's univarsal : the lan- 
guage of love, and the language of money ; the galls onder- 
stand the one, and the men onderstand the other, all the wide 
world over, from Canton to Niagara. I no sooner showed 
him the half-dollar, than it walked into his pocket, a plaguy 
sight quicker than it will walk out, I guess. 

*' Sais I, ' Friend, you've taken the consait out of me 
properly. Captain Hall said there warn't a man, woman, or 
child, in the whole of the thirteen united univarsal worlds of 
our great Republic, that could speak pure English, and 1 was 




a goin' to kick him for it; but he is right, arter all. 
There ain't one livin' soul on us can ; I don't believe they 
ever as much as heerd it, for I never did, till this blessed day, 
and there are few things I haven't either see'd, or heem tell 
of. Yes, we can't speak English, do you take }' ' Dim com- 
rag,' sais he, which in Yankee means, ' that's no English,' 
and he stood, looked puzzled, and scratched his head, rael 
hansum, ' Dim comrag,' sais he. 

"Well, it made me larf spiteful. I felt kinder wicked, 
and as I had a hat on, and I couldn't scratch my head, I stood 
jist like him, clown fashion, with my eyes wanderin' and my 
mouth wide open, and put my hand behind me, and scratched 
there ; and I stared, and looked puzzled too, and made the 
same identical vacant face he did, and repeated arter him slowly, 
with another scratch, mocking him like, * Dim comrag." 

" Such a pair o' fools you never saw, Squire, since the last time 
you shaved afore a lookin' glass ; and the stable boys larfed, 
and he larfed, and I larfed, and it was the only larf I had 
all that juicy day. 

"Well, I turns agin to the door.; but it's the old story 
over again — rain, rain, rain ; spatter, spatter, spatter — ' I can't 
stop here with these true Brittons,' sais I ; ' guess I'll go and 
see the old Squire ; he is in his study.' 

" So I goes there : * Squire,' sais I, ' let me offer you a rael 
genewine Havana cigar ; I can recommend it to you.' He 
thanks me, he don't smoke, but plague take him, he don't 
say, • If you are fond of smokin', pray smoke yourself.' And 
he is writin', I won't interrupt him. 

"•Waiter, order .me a post>chaise, to be here in the 
momin', when the rooks wake.' 

" • Yes, Sir.' 

"Come, I'll try the women folk in the drawin'-room agin'. 
Ladies don't mind the rain here ; they are used to it. It's 
like the musk plant, arter you put it to your nose once, you 
can't smell it a second time. Oh what beautiful galls they 
be ! What a shame it is to bar a feller out such a day as 
this. One on 'em blushes like a red cabbage, when she 
speaks to me, that's the one, I reckon, I disturbed this momin'. 
Cuss the rooks ! I'll pyson them, and that won't make no noise. 

" She shows mc the consarvitery, ' Take care. Sir, your 
coat has caught this geranium,' and she onhitches it. ' Stop, 
Sir, you'll break tliis jilly flower,' and she lifts off the coat 




tail agin ; in fact, it's so crowded, you can't squeeze alon^, 
scarcely, without a doin' of mischief somewhere or another. »i 

" Next time, she goes first, and then it's my turn, • Stop, 
Miss,' sais I, ' your frock has this rose tree over,* and I loosens 
it ; once more, ' Miss, this rose has got tangled,' and I on- 
tangles it from her furbeloes. 

" I wonder what makes my hand shake so, and my heart it 
bumps so, it has bust a button off. If I stay in this con- 
sarvitery, I shan't consarve myself long, that's a fact, for 
this gall has put her whole team on, and is a runnin' me off 
the road. ' Hullo ! what's that ? Bell for dressin* for dinner.' 
Thank Heavens ! I shall escape from myself, and from this 
beautiful critter, too, for I'm gettin' spoony, and shall talk 
silly presently. 

*' I don't like to be left alone with a gall, it's plaguy apt 
to set me a soft sawderiu' and a courtin'. There's a sort of 
nateral attraction like in this world. Two ships in a calm, 
are sure to get up alongside of each other, if there is no wind, 
and they have nothin' to do, but look at each other ; natur' 
does it. Well, even the tongs and the shovel won't stand 
alone long ; they're sure to get on the same side of the fire, 
and be sociable ; one on 'em has a loadstone and draws 'tother, 
that's sartain. If that's the case with hard-hearted things, 
like oak and iron, what is it with tender-hearted things like 
humans ? Shut me up in a 'sarvatory with a hansum gall of 
a rainy day, and see if I don't think she is the sweetest flower 
in it. Yes, I am glad it is the dinner-bell, for I ain't ready 
to marry yet, and when I am, I guess I must get a gall where 
I got my hoss, in Old Connecticut, and that state takes the 
shine off of all creation for geese, galls and on:ons, that's 
a fact. 

"Well, dinner won't wait, so I ups agin once more near 
the rooks, to brush up a bit ; but there it is agin, the same 
old tune, the whole blessed day, rain, rain, rain. It's rained 
all day and don't talk of stoppin' nother. How I hate the 
sound, and how streaked I feel. I don't mind its huskin' my 
voice, for there is no one to talk to; but cuss it, it has 
softened my bones. 

" Dinner is ready ; the rain has damped every body's spirits, 
and squenched 'em out ; even champaign won't laise 'em agin ; 
feedin' is heavy, talk is heavy, time is heavy, tea is heavy, 
and there ain't no musick ; the only thing that's light is a bed- 

: ' ; 



room candle — heavens and airth how glad I am this juicy day' 
IS over ! 

1"' 1 .' 




Ik the preceding sketch I have given Mr. Slick's account of 
the EngUsh cUmate, and his opinion of the dulness of a country- 
house, as nearly as possible in his own words. It struck me 
at the time that they were exaggerated views ; but if the 
weather were unpropitious, and the company not well selected, 
I can easily conceive, that the impression on his mind would be 
as strong and as unfavourable, as he has described it to have 

The climate of England is healthy, and, as it admits of much 
ont-door exercise, and is not subject to any very sudden varia- 
tion, or violent extremes of heat and cold, it may be said to be 
good, though not agreeable ; but its great humidity is very 
sensibly felt by Americans and other foreigners accustomed to 
a dry atmosphere and clear sky. That Mr. Slick should find 
a rainy day in the country dull, is not to be wondered at ; it 
is probable it would be so any where, to a man who had so few 
resources, within himself, as the Attach^. Much of course 
depends on the inmates ; and the company at the Shropshire 
house, to which he alludes, do not appear to have been the best 
calculated to make the state of the weather a matter of indiffe- 
rence to him. 

I cannot say, but that I have at times suffered a depression 
of spirits from the frequent, and sometimes long-continued 
rains of this country ; but I do not know that, as an ardent 
admirer of scenery, I would desire less humidity, if it dimi- 
nished, as I fear it would, the extraordinary verdure and great 
beauty of the English landscape. With respect to my own 
visits at country-houses, I have generally been fortunate in the 
weather, and always in the company; but I can easily conceive, 
that a man situated as Mr. Slick appears to have been with 
respect to both, would find the combination intolerably dull. 
But to return to my narrative. 

Early on the following day we accompanied our luggage to 
the wharf, where a small steamer lay to convey us to the 
usual anchorage ground of the packets, in the bay. We were 
attended by a large concourse of people. The piety, learning, 

c 2 


THE attache; 


unaffected simplicity, and kind disposition of my excellent friend, 
Mr. Hopewell, were well known and fully appreciated by the 
people of New York, who were anxious to testify their respect 
for his virtues, and their sympathy for his unmerited persecu- 
tion, by a personal escort and a cordial farewell. 

" Are all those people going with us, Sam ?'^ said he; 
" how pleasant it will be to have so many old friends on board, 
wont it ?" 

** No, Sir,** said the Attach^, •* they are only a goin' to see 
you on board — it is a mark of respect to you. They will go 
down to the ' Tyler,' to take their last farewell of you." 

" Well, that's kind now, ain't it ?" he replied. " I sij^pose 
they thought I would feel kinder dull and melancholy like, on 
leaving my native land this way ; and I must say I don't feel 
jist altogether right neither. Ever so many things rise right 
up in my mind, not one arter another, but all together like^ 
so that I can't take 'em one by one and reason 'em down, but 
they jist overpower me by numbers. You understand me, Sam, 
don't you ?" 

" Poor old critter I" said Mr. Slick to me in an under-tone, 
" it's no wonder he is sad, is it ? I must try to cheer him up 
if I can. Understand you, minister !" said he, "to be sure 
I do. I have been that way often and often. That was the 
case when I was to Lowel factories, with the galls a taking of 
them off in the paintin' line. The dear little critters kept up 
such an everlastin' almighty clatter, clatter, clatter ; jabber, 
jabber, jabber, all talkin' and chatterin' at once, you couldn't 
hear no blessed one of them ; and they jist fairly stunned a 
feller. For nothin' in natur', unless it be perpetual motion, 
can equal a woman's tongue. It's most a pity we hadn't some 
of the angeliferous little dears with us too, for they do make 
the time pass quick, that's a fact. I want some on 'em to tie 
a night-cap for me to-night ; I don't commonly wear one, but 
I somehow kinder guess, I intend to have one this time, and 
no mistake." 

•* A night-cap, Sam!" sdid he ; "why what on airth do you 
mean ?" 

" Why, I'U tell you, minister," said he, " you recollect 
sister Sail, don't you." 

" Indeed, I do," said he, "and an excellent girl she is, a 
dutiful daughter, and a kind and affectionate sister. Yes, she is 
a good girl is Sally, a very good girl indeed; but what of her?" 





" Well, she w&s a most a beautiful critter, to brew a glass of 
whisky toddy, as ever I see'd in all my travels was sister 
Sail, and I used to call that tipple, when I took it late, a night- 
cap ; api>le jack and white nose ain't the smallest part of a cir- 
cumstance to it. On s«ch an occasion as this, minister, when 
a body is leavin* the greatest nation atween the poles, to go 
among benighted, ignorant, insolent foreigners, you would'nt 
object to a night-cap, now would you ?" 

" Well, I don't know as I would, Sam," said he ; " parting 
from friends whether temporarily or for ever, is a sad thing, and 
the fM-mer is typical of the latter. No, I do not know as I 
would. We may use these things, but not abuse them. Be 
temperate, be moderate, but it is a sorry heart that knows no 
pleasure. Take your night- cap, Sam, and then commend 
yourself to His safe keeping, who rules the wind and the 
waves : to Him who — '* 

" Well then, minister, what a dreadful awful looking thing 
a night-cap is without a tassel, ain't it ? Oh ! you must put 
a tassel on it, and that is another glass. Well then, what is 
the use of a night-cap. if it has a tassel on it, but has no 
string : it will slip oflF your head the very first turn you take ; 
and that is another glass you know. Butvone string won't tie 
a cap; one hand can't shake hands along with itself: you 
must have two strings to it, and that brings one glass more. 
Well then, what is the use of two strings if they ain't 
fastened ? If you want to keep the cap on, it must be tied, 
that's sartain, and that is another go ; and tiien, minister, what 
an everlastin' miserable stingy, ongenteel critter a feller must 
be, that won't drink to the hedth of the Female Brewer. 
Well, that's another glass to sweethearts and wives, and then 
turn in for sleep, and that's what I intend to do to-night. I 
guess I'll tie the night-cap this hitch, if I never do agin, and 
that's a fact." 

"Oh Sam, Sam,*' said Mr. Hopewell, " for a man that is 
wide awake and duly sober, I never saw one yet that talked 
such nonsense as you do. You said, you understood me, but 
you don't, one mite or morsel ; but men are made differently : 
some people's narves operate on the brain sensitively and give 
them exquisite pain or excessive pleasure ; other folks seem as 
if they had no narves at all. You understand my words, but 
you don't enter into my feelings. Distressing images rise up 
in my mind in such rapid succession, I can't master them, 

■ :^V. 


but they master me. They come slower to you, and the mo- 
ment you see their shadows before you, you turn round to the 
light, and throw these dark figures behind you. I can't do 
that ; I could when I was younger, but I can't now. Reason 
is comparing two ideas, and drawing an inference. Insanity 
is, when you have such a rapid succession of ideas, that yon 
can't compare them. How great then must be the pain when 
you are almost pressed into insanity and yet retaia your 
reason ? What is a broken heart ? Is it death ? I think it 
must be very like it, if it is not a figure of speech, for I feel 
that my heart is broken, and yet I am as sensitive to pain as 
ever. Nature cannot stand this suffering long. You nay 
these good people have come to take their last farewell of me ; 
most likely, Sam, it is a last farewell. I am an old man now, I 
am well stricken in years ; shall I ever live to see my native land 
again ? I know not, the Lord's will be done ! If I had a 
wish, I should desire to return to be lain with my kindred, to 
repose in death with those that were the companions of my 
earthly pilgrimage ; but if it be ordered otherwise. I am ready 
to say with truth and meekness, * Lord, now lettest Thou thy 
servant depart in peace.' " 

When this excellent old man said that, Mr. Slick did not 
enter into his feelings — he did not do him justice. His at- 
tachment to and veneration for his aged pastor and friend were 
quite filial, and such as to do honour to his head and heart. 
Those persons who have made character a study, will all agree, 
that the cold exterior of the New England man arises from 
other causes than a coldness of feelinnr. Much of the rhodo- 
montade of the Attach^, addressed to Mr. Hopewell, was 
uttered for the kind purpose of withdrawing his attention from 
those griefs which preyed so heavily upon his spirits. '' '^'' 

" Minister," said Mr. Slick, " come, cheer up, it makes tae 
kinder dismal to hear you talk so. When Captain McKenzie 
hanged up them three free and enlightened citizens of ours on 
board of the — Somers — he gave 'em three cheers. We are 
worth half a dozen dead men yet, so cheer up. Talk to these 
friends of ourn, they might think you considerable starch if 
you don't talk, and talk is cheap, it don't cost nothin' but 
breath, a scrape of your hind leg, and a jupe of the head, 
that's a fact." ' ''■''{ 

Having thus engaged him in conversation with his friends; 
we proceeded on board the steamer, which, in a short time, 




was alongside of the great " Liner." The day was now spent, 
and Mr. Hopewell having taken leave of his escort, retired to 
his cabin, very much overpowered by his feelings. 

Mr. Slick insisted on his companions taking a parting glass 
with him, and I was much amused with the advice given him 
by some of his young friends and admirers. He was cautioned 
to sustain the high character of the nation abroad ; to take 
care that he returned as he went — a true American ; to insist 
upon the possession ot the Oregon Territory ; to demand and 
enforce his right position in society ; to negotiate the national 
loan ; and above all never to accede to the right of search of 
slave-vessels ; all which having been duly promised, they took 
an affectionate leave of each other, and we remained on board, 
intending to depart in the course of the following morning. 

As soon as they had gone, Mr. Slick ordered materials for 
lre\,!ng, namely : whisky, hot water, sugar and lemon ; and 
i^nving duly prepared in regular succession the cap, the tassel, 
Hnd the two strings, filled his tumbler again, and said : 

" Come now. Squire, before we turn in, let us tie the night- 

' -f i V,, *a ; ■' . 



At eleven o'clock the next day the * Tyler,* having shaken 
out her pinions, and spread them to the breeze, commenced 
at a rapid rate her long and solitary voyage across the Atlantic. 
Object after object rose in rapid succession into distinct view, 
was approached and passed, until, leaving the calm and shel- 
tered waters of the bay, we emerged into the ocean, and 
involuntarily turned to look back upon the land we had left. 
Long after the lesser hills and low country had disappeared, a 
few ambitious peaks of the highlands still met the eye, ap- 
pearing as if they had advanced to the very edge of the water, 
to prolong the view of us till the last moment. 

This coast is a portion of my native continent, for though 
not a subject of the Republic, I am still an American in its 
larger sense, having been bom in a British province in this 
hemisphere. I therefore sympathised with the Teelings of my 



two companions, whose straining eyes were still fixed on those 
dim and distant specks in the horizon. 

*' There," said Mr. Slick, rising from his seat, " I believe 
we have seen the last of home till next time ; and this I will 
say, it is the most glorious country onder the sun ; travel where 
you will, you won't ditto it no where. It is the toploftiest 
place in all creation, ain't it^ minister ?" 

There was no response to all this bombast. It was evident 
he had not been heard ; and turning to Mr. Hope\yell, I ob- 
served his eyes were fixed intently on the distance, and his 
mind pre-occupied by painful reflexions, for tears were coursing 
after each other down his furrowed but placid cheek. 

" Squire," said Mr. Slick to me, " this won't do. We must 
not allow him to dwell too long on the thoughts of leaving 
home, or he'll droop like any thing, and p'raps, hang his 
head and fade right away. He is aged and feeble, and every- 
thing depends on keeping up his spirits. An old plant must 
be shaded, well watered, and tended, or you can't transplant 
it no how you can fix it, that's a fact. He won't give ear to 
me now, for he knows I can't talk serious, if I was to try ; but 
he will listen to you. Try to cheer him up, and I will go down 
below and give you a chance." 

As soon as I addressed him, he started and said, " Oh ! is it 
you, Squire ? come and sit down by me, my friend. I can 
talk to you, and I assure you I take great pleasure in doing 
so. I cannot always talk to Sam : he is excited now ; he is 
anticipating great pleasure from his visit to England, and is 
quite boisterous in the exuberance of his spirits. I own I am 
depressed at times; it is natural I should be, but I shall 
endeavour not to be the cause of sadness in others. I not 
only like cheerfulness myself, but I like to promote it ; it is a 
sign of an innocent mind, and a heart in peace with God and 
in charity with man. All nature is cheerfiil, its voice is har- 
monious, and its countenance smiling ; the very garb in which 
it is clothed is gay ; why then should man be an exception to 
everything around him? Sour sectarians, who address our 
fiears, rather than our affections, may say what they please, 
Sir, mirth is not inconsistent with religion, but rather an 
evidence that our religion is right. If I appear dull, therefore, 
do not suppose it is because I think it necessary to be so, 
but because qertain reflections are natural to me as a clergy- 
man, as a man far advanced in years, and as a pilgrim who 




leaves his home at a period of life, when the probabilities are, 
he may not be spared to revisit it. 

" I am, like yourself, a colonist by birth. At the revolution, 
I took no part in the struggle ; my profession and my habits 
both exempted me. Whether the separation v/m justifiable 
or not, either on civil or religious principles, it is not 
now necessary to discuss. It touiv place, however, and the 
colonies became a nation, and after due consideration, I con- 
cluded to dwell among • mine own people.' There I have 
continued, with the exception of one or two short journeys for 
the benefit of my health, to the present period. Parting with 
those whom I have known so long and loved so well, is doubt- 
less a trial to one whose heart is still warm, while his nerves 
arc weak, and whose affections are greater than his firmness. 
But I weary you with this egotism ?'* 

" Not at all," I replied. " I am both instructed and delighted 
by your conversation. Pray proceed. Sir." 

" Well it is kind, very kind of you," said he, " to say so. I 
will explain these sensations to you, and then endeavour never 
to allude to them again. America is my birth-place and my 
home. Homt has two significations, a restricted one and an 
enlarged one ; in its restricted sense, it is the place of our 
abode, it includes our social circle, our parents, children, and 
friends, and contains the living and the dead ; the past and 
the present generations of our race. By a very natural pro- 
cess, the scene of our affections soon becomes identified with 
them, and a portion of our regard is transferred from animate 
to inanimate objects. The streams on which we sported, the 
mountains on which we clambered, the fields in which we 
wandered, the school where we were instructed, the church 
where we worshipped, the very bell whose pensive melancholy 
music recalled our wandering steps in youth, awaken in after- 
years many a tender thought, many a pleasing recollection, 
and appeal to t'le heart with the force and eloquence of love. 
The country again contains all these things, the sphere is 
widened, new objects are included, and this extension of the 
circle is love of country. It is thus that the nation is said in 
an enlarged sense, to be our home also. 

•' This love of country is both natural and laudable : so 
natural, that to exclude a man from his country, is tie greatest 
punishment that country can infiict upon him ; and so laudable, 
that when it becomes a principle of action, it forms the hero 



and the patriot. How impressive, how beautiful, how dignified 
was the answer of the Shunamite woman to Elisha, who in his 
gratitude to her for her hospitality and kindness, made her a 
tender of his interest at court. ' Wouldst thou,' said he, * be 
spoken for to the king, or to the cai>tain of the host ?' — What 
an offer was that, to gratify her ambition or flatter her pride ! 
' I dwell,' she said, ' among mine own people.' What a cha- 
racteristic answer ! all history furnishes no parallel to it. 

" I too dwell ' among my own people :' my affections are 
there, and there also is the sphere of ray duties ; and if I am 
depressed by the thoughts of parting from ' my people,' I will 
do you the justice to believe, that you would rather bear with 
its effects, than witness the absence of such natural affection. 

" But this is not the so^e cause : independently of some 
aflHictions of a clerical n.^ture in my late parish, to which it is 
not necessary to allude, the contemplation of this vast and 
fathomless ocean, both from its novelty and its grandeur, over- 
whelms me. At home I am fond of tracing the Creator in His 
works. From the erratic comet in the firmament, to the 
flower that blossoms in the field ; in all animate, and inanimate 
matter ; in all that is animal, vegetable or mineral, I see His 
infinite wisdom, almighty power, and everlasting glory. 

•• But that Home is inland ; I have not beheld the sea now 
for many years. I never saw it without emotion ; I now view 
it with awe. What an emblem of eternity ! — Its dominion is 
alone reserved to Him, who made it. Changing yet chang- 
less — ever varying, yet always the same. How weak and 
powerless is man ! how short his span of life, when he is viewed 
in connexion with the sea ! He has left no trace upon it — it 
will not receive the impress of his hands ; it obeys no laws, 
but those imposed upon it by Him, who called it into existence ; 
generation after generation has looked upon it as we now do — 
and where are they ? Like yonder waves that press upon each 
other in regular succession, they have passed away for ever ; 
and their nation, their language, their temples and their tombs 
have perished with them. But there is the Undying one. 
When man was formed, the voice of the ocean was heard, as it 
now is, speaking of its mysteries, and proclaiming His glory, 
who alone lifteth its waves, or stilleth the rage thereof. 

" And yet, my dear frfend, for so you must allow me to call 
you, awful as these considerations are, which it suggests, who 
are they that go down to the sea in ships and occupy their 




business in great waters ? The sordid trader, and the armed 
and mercenary sailor : gold or blood is their object, and the 
fear of God is not always in them. Yet the sea shall give up 
its dead, as well as the grave ; and all shall 

'* But it is not my intention to preach to you. To intrude 
serious topics upon our friends at all times, has a tendency to 
make both ourselves and our topics distasteful. I mention 
these things to you, not that they are not obvious to you and 
every other right-minded man, or that I think I can clothe 
tliem in more attractive language, or utter them with more 
effect than others ; but merely to account for my absence of 
mind and evident air of abstraction I know my days are 
numbered, and in the nature of things, that those that are left, 
cannot be many. 

•* Pardon me, therefore, I pray you, my friend ; make allow- 
ances for an old man, unaccustomed to leave home, and uncer- 
tain whether he shall ever be permitted to return to it. I feel 
deeply and sensibly your kindness in soliciting my company on 
this tour, and will endeavour so to regulate my feelings as not 
to make you regret your invitation. I shall not again recur to 
these topics, or trouble you with any further reflections ' on 
Home and the Sea.* " 




" Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, one morning when we were 
alone on the quarter-deck, *' sit down by me, if you please. I 
wish to have a little private conversation with you. I am a 
good deal concerned about Sam. I never liked this appoint- 
ment be has received : neither his education, his habits, nor his 
manners have qualified him for it. He is fitted for a trader 
and for nothing else. He looks upon politics as he does upon 
his traffic in clocks, rather hb- profitable to himself than bene- 
ficial to others. Self is predominant with him. He overrates 
the importance of his office, as he will find when he arrives in 
London ; but what is still worse, he overrates the importance 
of the opinions of others regarding the States. 

" He has been reading that foolish book of Cooper's ' Glean- 


THE attache; 

r It 

] i 

ings in Europe,' and intends to show fight, he says. He called 
my attention, yesterday, to this absurd passage, which he 
maintains is the most manly and sensible thing that Cooper 
ever wrote : ' This indifference to the feelings of others, is a 
dark spot on the national manners of England. The only way 
to put it down, is to become lielligerent yourself, by intro- 
ducing Pauperism, UadicaUsm, Ireland, the Indies, or some 
other sore point. Like all who make butts of others, they do 
not manifest the proper forbearance when the tables are turned. 
Of this I have had abundance of proof in my own experience. 
Sometimes their remarks are absolutely rude, and personally 
offensive, as a disregard of one's national character, is a dis- 
respect to his principles ; but as personal quarrels on such 
grounds are to be avoided, I have uniformly retorted in kind, 
if there was the smallest opening for such retaliation.' 

*• Now, every gentleman in the States repudiates such senti- 
ments as these. My object in mentioning the subject to you, 
is to request the favour of you, to persuade Sam not to be too 
sensitive on these topics ; not to take offence, where it is not 
intended ; and, above all, rather to vindicate his nationality by 
his conduct, than to justify those aspersions, by his intemperate 
behaviour. But here he comes : I shell withdraw and leave 
you together." 

Fortunately Mr. Slick commenced talking upon a topic, 
which naturally led to that to which Mr. Hopewell had wished 
me to direct his attention. 

" Well, Squire," said he, " I am glad too, you are a goin' to 
England along with me : we will take a rise out of John Bull, 
won't we ? — We've hit Blue-nose and Brother Jonathan both 
pretty considerable tarnation hard, and John has si)lit his sides 
with larfter. Let's tickle him now, by feelin' his own short 
ribs, and see how he will like it ; we'll soon see whose hide is 
the thickest, hisn or oum, won't we ? Let's see whether he 
will say chee, chee, chee, when he gets to the t'other eend of 
the gun." 

" What is the meaning of that saying ?" I asked. " I never 
heard it before." 

" Why," said he, " when I was a considerable of a growd 
up saplin of a boy to Slickville, I used to be a gunnin' for ever- 
lastinly amost in our hickory woods, a shootin' of squirrels with 
a rifle, and I got amazin' expart at it. I could take the head 
off of them chatterin' little imps, when I got a fair shot at 'em 



with a ball, at any reasonable distance a' most, in nine cases out 
of ten. 

" Well, one day I was out as usual, and our Irish help 
Paddy Burke was along with me, and every time he see'd me a 
drawin' of the bead fine on 'em, he used to say, ' Well, you've 
an excellent gun entirely. Master Sam. Oh by Jakers ! the 
squirrel has no chance with that gun, it's an excellent one 

" At last I got tired a hearin' of him a jawin' so for ever 
and a day about the excellent gun entirely ; so, sais I, ' You 
fool you, do you think it's the gun that does it entirely as you 
say ; ain't there a little dust of skill in it ? Do you think you 
could fetch one down ?' 

" ' Oh, it's a capital gun entirely,* said he. 

" • Well,' said I, ' if it 'tis, try it now, and see what sort of 
a fist you'll make of it.* 

" So Paddy takes the rifle, lookin' as knowin' all the time as 
if he had ever seed one afore. Well, there was a great red 
squirrel on the tip-top of a limb, chatterin' away like any- 
thing, chee, chee, chee, proper frightened ; he know'd it wam't 
me, that was a parsecutin' of him, and he expeoted he'd be 
hurt. They know'd me, did the little critters, when they seed 
me, and they know'd I never had hurt one on 'em, my balls never 
givin' 'em a chance to feel what was the matter of them ; but 
Pat they didn't know, and they see'd he wam't the man to 
handle ' old Bull-Dog.* I used to call my rifle Bull-Dog, 
cause she dways bit afore she barked. 

" Pat threw one foot out astarn, like a skullin' oar, and 
then bent forrards like a hoop, and fetched the rifle slowly up 
to the line, and shot to the right eye. Chee, chee, chee, went 
the squirrel. He see'd it was wrong. • By the powers !' sais 
Pat, • this is a left-handed boot,' and he brought the gun to 
the other shoulder, and then shot to his left eye. • Pegs !* 
sais Pat, ' this gun was made for a squint eye, for I can't get 
a right strait sight of the critter, either side.' So I fixt it for 
him and told him which eye to sight by. ' An excellent gun 
entirely,' sais Pat, * but it tante made Uke the rifles we have.' 

" Ain't they strange critters, them Irish, Squire } That 
feller never handled a rifle afore in all his bom days ; but 
unless it was to a priest, he wouldn't confess that much for 
the world. They are as bad as the English that way ; they 
always pretend they know everything. 



" ' Come, Pat,' sais I, * blaze away now.' Back goes the 
hind leg agin, up bends the back, and Bull-Dog rises slowly 
to his shoulder ; and then he stared, and stared, until his arm 
shook like palsy. Chee, chee, chee, went the squirrel agin, 
louder than ever, as much as to say, * Why the plague don't 
you fire ? I'm not a goin' to stand here all day, for you this 
way,' and then throwin' his tail over his back, he jumped on to 
the next branch. 

" * By the piper that played before Moses !' sais Pat, * I'll 
stop your chee, chee, cheein' for you, you chatterin' spalpeen 
of a devil, you.' So he ups with the rifle agin, takes a fair 
aim at him, shuts both eyes, turns his head round, and fires ; 
and Bull-Dog, findin' he didn't know how to hold her tight 
to the shoulder, got mad, and kicked him head over heels on 
the broad of his back. Pat got up, a raakin' awful wry faces, 
and began to limp, to show how lame his shoulder was, and to 
rub his arm, to see if he had one left, and the squirrel ran 
about the tree hoppin' mad, hoUerin' out as loud as it could 
scream, chee, ciiee, chee. 

" * Oh bad luck to you,' sais Pat, * if you had a been at 
t'other eend of the gun,' and he rubbed his shoulder agin, and 
cried like a baby, ' you \/ouldn't have saia chee, chee, chee, 
that way, I know.' 

" Now when your gun. Squire, was a knockin' over Blue- 
nose, and makin' a proper fool of him, and a knockin' over 
Jonathan, and a spilin' of his bran-new clothes, the English 
sung out chee, chee, chee, till all was blue agin. You had aji 
excellent gun entirely then : let's see if they will sing out chee, 
chee, chee, now, when we take a shot at them. Do you take?" 
and he laid his thumb on h's nose, as if perfectly satisfied with 
the application of his sto.y. "Do you take, Squire? you 
have an excellent gun entirely, as Pat says. It's what I call 
puttin' the leake into 'em properly. If you had a written this 
book fust, the English would have said your gun was no good ; 
it wouldn't have been like the rifles they had seen. Lord, I 
could tell you stories about the English, that would make even 
them cryin' devils the Mississippi crocodiles laugh, if they was 
to hear 'em." 

"Pardon me, Mr. Slick," I said, "this is not the temper 
with which you should visit England." 

" What is the temper," he replied, with much warmth, "that 
they visit us in } Cuss 'em ! Look at Dickens ; was there 



8 Pat, *rii 

n' spalpeen 
takes a fair 

and fires ; 
d her tight 
er heels on 

wry faces, 
vas, and to 
quirrel ran 
18 it could 

a been at 
' agin, and 
ihee, chee, 

iver Blue- 
ckin' over 
»e English 
ou had aja 
f out chee, 
ou take?'* 
sfied with 
lire ? you 
'hat I call 
ritten this 
no good ; 
Lord, I 
lake even 
they was 

ever a man made so much of, except La Fayette ? And who 
was Dickens ? Not a Frenchman, that is a friend to us ; not a 
native, that has a claim on us ; not a colonist, who, though 
English by name is still an American by birth, six of one and 
half a dozen of t'other, and therefore a kind of half-breed 
brother. No ! he was a cussed Britisher ; and what is wus, 
a British author ; and yet, because he was a man of genius, 
because genius has the 'tamal globe for its theme, and the 
world for its home, and mankind for its readers, and bean't d 
citizen of this state or that state, but a native of the univarse, 
why we welcomed him, and feasted him, and leveed him, and 
escorted him, and cheered him, and honoured him ; did he 
honour us ? What did he say of us when he returned } 
Read his book. 

" No, don't read his book, for it tante worth readin'. Has 
said one word of all that reception in his book ? that book that 
will be read, translated, and read agin all over Europe — has 
he said one word of that reception ? Answer me that, will 
you ? Darned the word, his memory was bad ; he lost it over 
the tafrail when he was sea-sick. But his note-book was safe 
under lock and key, and the pigs in New York, and the chap 
the rats eat in jail, and the rough man from Kentucky, and the 
entire raft of galls emprisoned in one night, and the spittin' 
boxes and all that stuff, warn't trusted to memory, it was 
noted down arid printed. 

" But it tante no matter. Let any man give me any sarce 
in England, about my country, or not give me the right /po- 
sition in society, as Attache to our Legation, and, as Cooper 
says, I'll become belligerent, too, I will, I snore. I can snuff 
a candle with a pistol as fast as you can light it. Hang up an 
orange, and I'll first peel it with ball and then quarter it. 
Heavens ! I'll let daylight dawn through some o' their jackets, 
I know. 

" Jube, you infamal black scoundrel, you odoriferous nigger 
you, what's that you've got there ?" 

*' An apple, massa." 

" Take off your cap and put that apple on your head, then 
stand sideways by that port- hole, and hold steady, or you 
might stand a smart chance to have your wool carded, 
that's all." 

Then taking a pistol out of the side-pocket of his mackin- 
tosh, he deliberately walked over to the other side of the deck, 
and examined his priming. 


i m 





" Good heavens, Mr. Slick !" said I in great alarm, " what 
are you about ?" 

" I am goin','* he said with the greatest coolness, but at 
the same time with equal sternness, " to bore a hole through 
that apple. Sir." . / 

" For shame ! Sir," I said. " How can you think of such 
a thing ? Suppose you were to miss your shot, and kill that 
unfortunate boy ?" 

" I won't suppose no such thing. Sir. I can't miss it. I 
couldn't miss it if I was to try. Hold your head steady, Jube 
— and if I did, it's no great matter. The onsarcumcised 
Amalikite ain't worth over three hundred dollars at the fardest, 
that's a fact; and the way he'd pyson a shark ain't no matter. 
Are you ready, Jube ?" 

" Yes, massa." 

" You shall do no such thing. Sir," I said, seizing his arm 
with both my hands. " If you attempt to shoot at that apple, 
I shall hold no further intercourse with you. You ought to 
be ashamed of yourself. Sir." 

" Ky ! massa," said Jube, " let him fire, Sar ; he no hurt 
Jube ; he no foozle de hair. I isn't one mossel afeerd. He 
often do it, jist to keep him hand in, Sar. Massa most a 
grand shot, Sar. He take off de ear ob de squirrel so slick, 
he neber miss it, till he go scratchin' his head. Let him appel 
hab it, massa." 

" Oh, yes," said Mr. Slick, " he is a Christian is Jube, he is 
as good as a white Britisher : same flesh, only a leetle, jist a 
leetle darker ; same blood, only not quite so old, ain't quite so 
much tarter on the bottle as a lord's has ; oh him and a 
Britisher is all one brother—- oh by all means — 

Him fader's hope — ^him raudder's joy, ' 

Him darlin little nigger boy. 

You'd better cry over him, hadn't you. Buss him, call him 
brother, hug him, give him the * Abolition ' kiss, write an 
article on slavery, like Dickens ; marry him to a white gall to 
England, get him a saint's darter with a good fortin, and we'll 
soon see whether her father was a talkin' cant or no, about 
niggers. Cuss 'em, let any o' these Britishers give me slack, 
and I'll give 'em cranberry for their goose, I know. I'd jump 
right down their throat with spurs on, and gallop their 
sarce out." 

i . 



** Mr. Slick I've done ; I shall say no more ; we part, and 
part for ever. I had no idea whatever, that a man, whose 
whole conduct has evinced a kind heart, and cheerful disposi- 
tion, could have entertained such a revengeful spirit, or given 
utterance to such unchristian and uncharitable language, as 
you have used to-day. We part — " 

" No, we don't," said he ; " don't kick afore you are 
spurrpri I guess I have feelins as well as other folks have, 
that's a fact ? one can't help being ryled to hear foreigners 
talk this way : and these critters are enough to make a man 
spotty on the back. I won't deny I've got some grit, but 
I ain't ugly. Pat me on the back and I soon cool down, drop 
in a soft word and I won't bile over ; but don't talk big, don't 
threaten, or I curl directly." 

" Mr. Slick," said I, " neither my countrymen, the Nova 
Scotians, nor your friends the Americans, took anything amiss, 
in our previous remarks, because, though satirical, they were 
good-natured. There was nothing malicious in them. They 
were not made for the mere purpose of showing them up, but 
were incidental to the topic we were discussing, and their 
whole tenor showed that while we were alive to the ludicrous, 
we fully appreciated, and properly valued their, many excellent 
and sterling qualil"ies. My countrymen, for wM>se good I pub- 
lished them, had the mos^ reason to complain, for I took the 
I liberty to apply ridicule * j them with no sparing hand. They 
understood the motive, and joined in the laugh, which was 
raised at their expense. Let us treat the English in the same 
style ; let us keep our temper. John Bull is a good-natured 
fellow, and has no objection to a joke, provided it is not made 
the vehicle of conveying an insult. Don't adopt Cooper's 
maxims ; nobody approves of them, on either side of the water ; 
don't be too thin-skinned. If the English have been amused 
by the sketches their tourists have drawn of the Yankees, per- 
haps the Americans may laugh over our sketches of the 
English. Let us make both of them smile, if we can, and 
endeavour to offend neither. If Dickens omitted to mention 
the festivals that were given in honour of his arrival in the 
States, he was doubtless actuated by a desire to avoid the 
appearance of personal vanity. A man cannot well make him- 
self the hero of his own book" 

" Well, well," said he, " I believe the black ox did tread on 
my toe that time. I don't know but what you're right. Soft 






words are good enough in their way, but still they butter no 
parsnips, as the say in' is. John maybe a good-natured critter, 
tho' I never see'd any of it yet ; and he may be fond of a joke, 
and p'raps is, seein' that he haw-haws considerable loud at his 
own. Let's try him at all events. "We'll soon see how he 
likes other folks' jokes ; I have my scruple about him. I must 
say I am dubersome whether he will say * chee, chee, chee' 
when he gets * T'other eend of the gun.' *' 



" Pray, Sir," said one of my fellow-passengers, " can you 
tell me why the Nova Scotians are called * Blue-noses ?' " 

" It is the name of a potato," said I, " which they produce 
in great perfection, and boast to be the best in the world. The 
Americans have, in consequence, given them the nick-name of 
* Blue-noses.' " 

•' And now," said Mr. Slick, " as you have told the entire 
stranger, who a Blue-nose is, I'll jist up and tell him what he is. 

" One day. Stranger, I was a joggin' along into Windsor on 
Old Clay, on a sort of butter and egg^' gait (for a fast walk on 
a journey tires a horse considerable), and who should I see a 
settin' straddle legs on the fence, but Squire Gabriel Soogit, 
with his coat off, a holdin' of a hoe in one hand, and his hat iu 
t'other, and a blowin' like a porpus proper tired. 

" • Why, Squire Gabe,' sais I, ' what is the matter of you ? 
you look as if you couldn't help yourself; who is dead and 
what is to pay now, eh ?' 

" ' Fairly beat out,' said he, * I am shockin' tired. I've been 
hard at work all the mornin' ; a body has to stir about con- 
siderable smart in this country, to make a livin', I tell you.' 

" I looked over the fence, and I seed he had hoed jist ten 
hills of potatoes, and that's all. Fact I assure you. 

" Sais he, ' Mr. Slick, tell you what, of all the work I ever 
did in my life I like hoein' potatoes the best, and I'd rather die 
than do that, it makes my back ache so." 

" ' Good airth and seas,' sais I to myself, ' what a perfect 
pictur of a lazy man that is ! How far is it tc Windsor ?' 




" • Three miles,' sais he. I took out my pocket-book pur- 
tendin' to write down the distance, but I booked his sayin' in 
my way-bill 

" Yes, that is a Blue-nose ; is it any wonder. Stranger, he is 
smail potatoes and few in a hillP" 


' ;i 


It is not my intention to record any of the ordinary inci- 
dents of a sea- voyage : the subject is too hackneyed and too 
trite ; and besides, when the topic is sea-sickness, it is infec- 
tious and the description nauseates. Hominem pagina nostra 
sapit. The proper study of mankind is man ; human nature is 
what I delight in contemplating ! I love to trace out and deli- 
neate the springs of human action. 

Mr. Slick and Mr. Hopewell are both studies. The former 
is a perfect master of certain chords ; he has practised upon 
them, not for philosophical, but for mercenary purposes. He 
knows the depth, and strength, and tone of vanity, curiosity, 
pride, envy, avarice, superstition, nationality, and local and 
general prejudice. He has learned the effect of these, not 
because they contribute to make him wiser, but because they 
make him richer ; not to enable him to regulate his conduct in 
life, but to promote and secure the increase of his trade. 

Mr. Hopewell, on the contrary, has studied the human heart 
as a philanthropist, as a man whose business it was to minister 
to it, to cultivate and improve it. His views are more sound 
and more comprehensive than those of the other's, and his 
objects are more noble. They are both extraordinary men. 

They differed, however, materially in their opinion of Eng- 
land and its institutions. Mr. Slick evidently viewed them 
with prejudice. Whether this arose from the supercilious 
manner of English tourists in America, or from the ridicule 
they have thrown upon Republican society, in the books of 
travels they have published, after their return to Europe, I 
could not discover ; but it soon became manifest to me, that 
Great Britain did not stand so high in his estimation as the 
colonies did. 

D 2 


THE attache; 





Mr. Hopewell, on the contrary, from early associations, che- 
rished a feeling of regard and respect for England ; and when 
his opinion was asked, he always gave it with great frankness 
and impartiality. When there was anything he could not 
approve of, it appeared to be a SMbj-ict of regret to him ; 
whereas, the other seized upon it at once as a matter of great 
exultation. The first sight we had of land naturally called out 
their respective opinions. 

As we were pacing the deck, speculating upon the probable 
termination of our voyage. Cape Clear was descried by the 
look-out on the mast-head. 

•• Hallo ! what's that ? why if it ain't land ahead, as I'm 
alive !" said Mr. Slick. "Well, come this is pleasant too, we 
have made amost an everlastin' short voyage of it, hante we ; 
and I must say I like land quite as well as sea, in a giniral 
way, arter all ; but. Squire, here is the first Britisher. That 
critter that's a clawin' up the side of the vessel like a cat is 
the pilot : now do for goodness gracious sake, jist look at him, 
and hear him." 

" What port ?" 

" Liverpool." 

" Keep her up a point." 

" Do you hear that. Squire ? that's English, or w'lat we 
used to call to singing school short metre. The critter don't 
say a word, even as much as * by your leave' ; but jist goes 
and takes his post, and don't ask the name of the vessel, or 
pass the time o' day with the Captain. That ain't in the bill, 
it tante paid for that ; if it was, he'd off cap, touch the deck 
three times with his forehead, and * Slam* like a Turk to his 
Honour the Skipper. 

•* There's plenty of civility here to England if you pay for 
it : you car buy as much in five minits as will make you sick 
for a week ; but if you don't pay for it, you not only won't 
get it, but you get sarce instead of it, that is if you are fool 
enough to stand and have it rubbed in. They are as cold as 
Presbyterian charity, and mean enough to put the sun in 
eclipse, are the English. They hante set up the brazen image 
here to worship, but they've got a gold one, and that they do 
adore and no mistake ; it's all pay; pay, pay ; parquisite, par- 
quisite, parquisite ; extortion, extortion, extortion. There is a 
whole pack of yelpin' devils to your heels here, for everlast- 
inly a cringin', fawnin' and coaxin', or snarlin', grumblin' or 




bully in' you out of your money. There's the boatman, and 
tide-waiter, and porter, and custom-er, and truck-man as soon 
as you land ; and the sarvant<dnan, and chamber-gall, and 
boots, and porter again to the inn. And then on the road, 
there is trunk-lifter, and coachman, and guard, and beggar- 
man, and a critter that opens the coach door, that they calls 
a waterman, cause he is infarnal dirty, and never sees water. 
They are jist like a Siiarl o' snakes, their name is legion, and 
tihere ain't no eend to 'em. 

" The only thing you get for nothin* here is rain and smoke, 
the rumatiz, and scorny airs. If you would buy an English- 
man at what he was worth, and sell him at his own valiation, 
he would realise as much as a nigger, and would be worth 
tradin' in, that's a fact ; but as it is he ain't worth nothin', 
there is no market for such critters, no one would buy him at 
no price. A Scotchman is wus, for he is prouder and meaner. 
Pat ain't no better nother ; he ain't proud, cause he has a hole 
in his breeches and another in his elbow, and he thinks pride 
won't patch 'em, and he ain't mean cause he hante got nothin' 
to be mean with. Whether it takes nine tailors to make a 
man, I can't jist exactly say, but this I will say, and take my 
davy of it too, that it would take tiree such goneys as these 
to make a pattern for one of our rael germwine free and en- 
lightened citizens, and then I wouldn't swap without large 
boot, I tell you. Guess I'll go, and pack up my fixins and 
have 'em ready to land." 

He now went below, leaving Mr. Hopewell and myself on 
the deck. All this tiiude of Mr. Slick was uttered in the 
hearing of the pilot, and intended rather for his conciliation, 
than my instruction, llie pilot was immoveable ; he let the 
cause against his country go " by default," and left us to our 
process of " inquiry ;" but when Mr. Slick was in the act of 
descending to the cabin, h? turned and gave him a look of 
admeasurement, very similar to that which a grazier gives an 
ox ; a look which estimates the weight and value of the animal, 
and I am bound to admit, that the result of that *' sizing or 
laying." as it is technically called, was by no means favour- 
able to the Attach^. 

Mr. Hopewell had evidently not attended to it ; his eye was 
fixed on the bold and precipitous shore of Wales, and the lofty 
summits of the everlasting hills, that in the distance, aspired 
to a companionship with the clouds. I took my seat at a little 

r i 



u I n 



distance from him, and surveyed the scene with mingled feel- 
ings of curiosity and admiration, until a thick volume of 
sulphureous smoke from the copper furnaces of Anglesey 
intercepted our view. 

" Squire/* said he, "it is impossible for us to contemplate 
this country, that now lies before us, without strong emotion. 
It is our fatherland. I recollect when I was a colonist, as you 
are, we were in the habit of applying to it, in common with 
Englishmen, that endearing appellation * Home,* and I believe 
you still continue to do so in the provinces. Our nursery 
tales taught our infant lips to lisp in English, and the ballads, 
that first exercised our memories, stored the mind with the 
traditions of our forefathers ; their literature was our literature, 
their religion our religion, their history our history. The 
battle of Hastings, the murder of Becket, the signature of 
Runymede, the execution at Whitehall ; the divines, the poets, 
the orators, the heroes, the martyrs, each and all were familiar 
to us. 

*' In approaching this country now, after a lapse of many» 
many years, and approaching it too for the last time, for mine 
eyes shall see it no more, I cannot describe to you the feelings 
that agitate my heart. I go to visit the tombs of my ances- 
tors ; I go to my home, and my home knoweth me no more. 
Oreat and good, and brave and free are the English ; and may 
God grant that they may ever continue so !*' 

" I cordially join in that prayer, Sir,'* said I ; " you have a 
country of your own. The old colonies having ripened into 
maturity, formed a distinct and separate family, in the great 
community of mankind. You are now a nation of yourselves, 
and your attachment to England, is of course subordinate tO' 
that of your own country ; you view it as the place that was 
in days of yore the home of your forefathers ; we regard it as 
the paternal estate, continuing to call it * Home* as you have 
just now observed. We owe it a debt of gratitude that not 
only cannot be repaid, but is too great for expression. Their 
armies protect us within, and their fleets defend us, and our 
commerce without. Their government is not only paternal 
and indulgent, but is wholly gratuitous. We neither pay 
tiiese forces, nor feed them, nor clothe them. We not only 
raise no taxes, but are not expected to do so. The blessings 
of true religion are diffused among us, by the pious liberality 
of fkigland, and a collegiate establishment at Windsor j sup- 




ported by British funds, has for years supplied the Church, 
tlie Bar and the Legislature with scholars and gentlemen. 
Where national assistance has failed, private contribution has 
volunteered its aid, and means are never wanting for any useful 
or beneficial object. 

" Our condition is a most enviable one. The history of 
the world has no example to offer of such noble disinterested- 
ness and such liberal rule, as that exhibited by Great Britain 
to her colonies. If the policy of the Colonial Office is not 
always good (which I fear is too much to say) it is ever liberal ; 
and if we do not mutually derive all the benefit we might from 
the connexion, we, at least, reap more solid advantages than 
we have a right to expect, and more, I am afraid, than our 
conduct always deserves. I hope the Secretary for the Colo- 
nies may havegthe advantage of making your acquaintance, Sir. 
Your experience is so great, you might give him a vast deal of 
useful information, which he could obtain from no one else." 

" Minister," said Mr. Slick, who had just mounted the 
companion-ladder, "will your honour," touching his hat, "jist 
look at your honour's plunder, and see it's all right ; remember 
me, Sir ; thank your honour. This way. Sir ; let me help 
your honour down. Remember me again. Sir. Thank youi 
honour. Now you may go and break your neck, your honour, 
as soon as you please ; for I've got all out of you I can squeeze, 
that's a fact. That's English, Squire — that's English ser- 
vility, which they call civility, and English meanness and 
beggin*, which they call parquisite. Who was that you wanted 
to see the Minister, that I heerd you a talkin' of when I come 
on deck ?" 

" The Secretary of the Colonies," I said. 

" Oh for goodness sake don't send that crittur to him," said 
he, " or minister will have to pay him for his visit, more, 
p'raps, than he can afford. John Russell, that had the ribbons 
afore him, appointed a settler as a member of Legislative 
Council to Prince Edward's Island, a berth that has no pay, 
that takes a feller three months a year from home, and has a 
horrid sight to do ; and what do you think he did } Now jist 
guess. You give it up, do you .'' Well, you may as well, for 
if you was five Yankees biled down to one, you wouldn't guess 
it. * Remember Secretaiy's clerk,' says he, a touchin' of his 
hat, * give him a little tip of thirty pound sterling, your honour.' 
Well, colonist had a drop of Yankee blood in him, which was 

'^l. If 





l^i / 

- -^,,^i*f»-i.**..~i'.Ji.T,; -,;.%,-n" 



THE attache; 

about one third molasses, and, of course, one third more of a 
man than they commonly is, and so he jist ups and says, * I'll 
see you and your clerk to Jericho beyond Jordan fust. The 
office ain't worth the fee. Take it and sell it to some one else 
that has more money nor wit.' He did, upon my soul. 

''No, don't send State- Secretary to Minister, send him to 
me at eleven o'clock to-night, for I shall be the top-loftiest 
feller above that time you've seen this while past, I tell you. 
Stop till I touch land once more, that's all ; the way I'll 
stretch my legs ain't no matter." 

He then uttered the negro ejaculation " chah I — chah !" 
and putting his arms a-kimbo, danced in a most extraordinary 
style to the music of a song, which he gave with great ex- 
pression : 

" Oh hab you nebber beerd ob de battle ob Orleans, 
Where de dandy Yankee lads gave de Britishers de beans ; 
Oh de Louisiana boys dey did it pretty slick. 
When dey cotch ole Packenham and rode bim up a creek. 
Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey, 
Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey. 


" Oh yes, send Secretary to me at eleven or twelve to- 
night, I'll be in tune then, jist about up to consart pitch. I'll 
smoke with him, or drink with him, or swap stories with him, 
or wrastle with him, or make a fool of him, or lick him, or 
anything he likes ; and when I've done, I'll rise up, tweak 
the fore- top-knot of my head by the nose, bow pretty, and say 
* Remember me, your honour ? Don't forget the tip ?' Lord, 
how I long to walk into some o' these chaps, and give 'em the 
beans ! and I will yet afore I'm many days older, hang me if 
I don't. I shall bust, I do expect ; and if I do, them that 
ain't drownded will be scalded, I know. Chah! — chah ! 

" Oh de British name is Bull, and de French name is Frog, 
And noisy critters too, when a braggin' on a log, — 
But I is an alligator, a iloatin' down stream. 
And I'll chaw both the bullies up, as I would an ice-cream : 
Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, doodon dooden dey. 
Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooacu dooden dey. 


■ Yes, I've been pent up in that drawer-like lookin' berth, till 
I've growed like a pine-tree with its branches off — straight up 
and down. My l^gs is like a pair o compasses that's got wet; 



they are rusty on the hinges, and won't work. I'll play leap- 
frog up the street, over every feller's head, till I get to the 
Liner's Hotel ; I hope I may be shot if I don't. Jube, you 
villain, stand still there on the deck, and hold stiff, you nigger. 
Wamy once — wamy twice — wamy three times ; now I come." 

And he ran forward, and putting a hand on each shoulder, 
jumped over him. 

"Turn round agin, you young sucking Satan, you; and 
don't give one mite or morsel, or you might * break massa's 
precious neck,' p'raps. Wamy once — wamy twice — wamy 
three times." 

And he repeated the feat again. 

" That's the way I'll shin it up street, with a hop, skip and 
a jump. Won't I make Old Bull stare, when he finds his 
head under my coat tails, and me jist makin' a lever of him ? 
He'll think he has run foul of a snag, / know. Lord, I'll 
shack right over their heads, as they do over a colonist ; only 
when they do, they never say wamy wunst, cuss 'em, they 
am't civil enough for that. They arn't paid for it — there is no 
perquisite to be got by it. Won't I tuck in the Champaine 
to-night, that's all, till I get the steam up right, and make the 
paddles work? Won't I have a lark of the rael Kentuck 
breed ? Won't I trip up a policeman's heels, thunder the 
knockers of the street doors, and ring the bells and leave no 
card? Won't I have a shy at a lamp, and then off hot foot to 
the hotel ? Won't I say, * Waiter, how dare you do that V 

"'What, Sir?' 

" * Tread on my foot.* 

"*I didn't. Sir.' 

" ' You did. Sir. Take that !' knock him down like wink, 
and help him up on his feet agin with a kick on his westem 
eend. Kiss the barmaid, about the quickest and wickedest 
she ever heerd tell of, and then off to bed as sober as a judge. 
' Chambermaid, bring a pan of coals and air my bed.' * Yes, 
Sir.' Poller close at her heels, jist put a hand on each short 
rib, tickle her till she spills the red hot coals all over the floor, 
and begins to cry over 'em to put 'em out, whip the candle 
out of her hand, leave her to her lamentations, and then off to 
roost in no time. And when I get there, won't I strike out all 
abroad — take up the room of three men with their clothes on — 
lay all over and over the bed, and f6el once more I am a free 
man and a ' Gentleman at large.* " 






4 -J- 



On looking back to any given period of our life, we gene- 
rally find that the intervening time appears much shorter than 
it really is. We see at once the starting-post and the termi- 
nus, and the mind takes in at one view the entire space. 

But this observation is more peculiarly apphcable to a 
short passage across the Atlantic. Knowing how great the 
distance is, and accustomed to consider the voyage as the work 
of many weeks, we are so astonished ac finding ourselves trans- 
ported in a few days, from one continent to another, that we 
can hardly credit the evidence of our own senses. 

Who is there that on landing has not asked himself the 
question, ** Is it possible that I am in England ? It seems but 
as yesterday that I was in America, to-day I am in Europe. 
Is it a dream, or a reality ?" 

The river and the docks — the country and the town — the 
people and their iccent — the verdure and the climate are all 
new to me. I have not been prepared for this ; I have not 
been led on imperceptibly, by travelling mile after mile by land 
from my own home, to accustom my senses to the gradual 
change of country. There has been no border to pass, where 
the language, the dress, the habits, and outward appearances 
assimilate. There has been no blending of colours — no dis- 
solving views in the retrospect — no opening or expanding ones 
in prospect. I have no difficulty in ascertaining the point 
where one terminates and the other begins. 

The change is sudden and startling. The last time I slept 
on shore, was in America — to-night I sleep in England. The 
effect is magical — one country is withdrawn from view, and 
another ip fvddenly presented to my astonished gaze. I am 
bewildered j .' .ouse myself, and rubbing my eyes, again ask 
whether I am awake ? Is this England ? that great country, 
that world of itself; Old England, that place I was taught to 
call home par excellence, the home of other homes, whose flag 
I called our flag ? (no, I am wrong, I have been accustomed 
to call our flag, the flag of England; our church, not the 




Church of Nova Scotia, nor the Colonial nor the Episcopal, 
nor the Established, but the Church of England.) Is it then 
that England, whose language I speak, whose subject I am, 
the mistress of the world, the country of Kings and Queens, 
and nobles and prelates, and sages and heroes ? 

I have read of it, so have I read of old Rome ; but the sight 
of Rome, Caesar, and the senate, would not astonish me more 
than that of London, the Queen and the Parliament. Both 
are yet ideal ; the imagination has sketched them, but when 
were its sketches ever true to nature ? I have a veneration 
for both, but, gentle reader, excuse the confessions of an old 
man, for I have a soft spot in the heart yet, / love Old Eng- 
land. I love its institutions, its literature, its people. I love 
its law, because, while it protc Jts property, it ensures liberty. 
I love its church, not only because I believe it is the true 
church, but because though armed with power, it is tolerant 
in practice. I love its constitution, because it combines the 
stability of a monarchy, with the most valuable peculiarities of 
a republic, and without vioi-^^mg nature by attempting to make 
men equal, wisely follow i' u'ctates, by securing freedom 
to all. 

I like the people, though uui all in the same degree. They 
are not what they were. Dissent, reform and agitation have 
altered their character. It is necessary to distinguish. A real 
Englishman is generous, loyal and brave, manly in his conduct 
and gentlemanly in his feeUng. When I meet such a man as 
this, I cannot but respect him ; but when I find that in addi-> 
tion to these good qualities, he has the further recommenda- 
tion of being a churchman in his religion and a Tory in his 
politics, I know then that his heart is in the right place, and I 
love him. 

The drafts of these chapters were read to Mr. Slick, at his 
particular request, that he might be assured they contained 
nothing that would injure his election as President of the 
United States, in the event of the Slickville ticket becoming 
hereafter the favourite one. This, he said, was on the cards, 
strange as it might seem, for making a fool of John Bull and 
turning the laugh on him, would be sure to take and be popular. 
The last paragraphs, he said, he affectioned and approbated 
with all his heart. 

•• It is rather tall talkin' that," said he ; "I like its patro- 
nisin' tone. There is suntbin' goodish in a colonist patronisin' 



THE attache; 

a Britisher. It's tumin* the tables on 'em ; it's sar"in' *em 
out in their own way. Lord, I think I see Old Bull put his 
eye-glass up and look at you, with a dead aim, and hear him 
say, ' Come, this is cuttin' it rather fiat.' Or, as the feller said 
to his second wife, when she tapped him on the shoulder, 
' Marm, my first wife was a Pursy, and she never presumed to 
take that liberty.' Yes, that's good. Squire. Go it, my shirt- 
tails I you'll win if you get in fust, see if you don't. Patro- 
nisin' a Britisher ! ! ! A critter that has Lucifer's pride, Ark- 
wright's wealth, and Bedlam's sense, ain't it rich ? Oh, wake 
snakes and walk your chalks, will you ! Give me your figgery- 
four Suire, I'll go in up to the handle for you. Hit or miss, 
rough or tumble, claw or mud-scraper, any way, you damn 
please, I'm your man." 

But to return to my narrative. I was under the necessity of 
devoting the day next after our landing at Liverpool, to writing 
letters announcing my safe arrival to my anxious friends in 
Nova Scotia, and in different parts of England; and also 
some few on matters of business. Mr. Slick was very urgent 
in his request, that I should defer this work till the evening, 
and accompany him in a stroll about the town, and at last 
became quite peevish at my reiterated refusal. 

*' You remind me. Squire," said he, " of Rufus Dodge, our 
great ile marchant of Boston, and as you won't walk, p'raps 
you'll talk, so I'll jist tell you the story." 

'* I was once at the Cataract House to Niagara. It is jist 
a short distance above the Falls. Out of the winders, you 
have a view of the splendid white waters, or the rapids of foam, 
afore the river takes it everlastin* leap over the cliff. 

'' Well, Rufus come all the way from Boston to «ee the 
Falls : he said he didn't care much about them hisself, seein' that 
he wam't in the mill business ; but, as he was a goin' to England* 
he didn't like to say he hadn't been there, especially as all 
the English knowed about America was, that there was a great 
big waterfall called Niagara, an everlastin' almighty big river 
called Mississippi, and a parfect pictur' of a wappin' big man 
called Kentuckian there. Both t'other ones he'd seen over 
and over agin, but Niagara he'd never sot eyes on. 

" So as soon as he arrives, he goes into the public room, 
and looks at the white waters, and sais he, ' Waiter/ sais he, 
' is them the Falls down there ?' a-pintin' by accident in the 
direction where the Falls actilly was. 




•' * Yes, Sir,' sais the waiter. 

*' ' Hem !' sais Rufe, ' them's the Falls of Niagara, eh ! So 
I've seen the Falls at last, eh ! Well it's pretty too : they a'int 
bad, that's a fact. So them's the Falls of Niagara ! How long 
is it afore the stage starts V 

" * An hour. Sir,' 

" ' Go and book me for Boston, and then bring me a 
paper.* - 

" ' Yes, Sir.' 

" Well he got his paper and sot there a readin' of it, and 
every now and then, he'd look out of the winder and say : 

* So them's the Falls of Niagara, eh ? Well, it's a pretty 
little mill privilege that too, ain't it ; but it ain't just altogether 
worth comin' so far to see. So I've seen the Falls at last !' 

" Arter a while in comes a Britisher. 

*• 'Waiter,' says he, ' how far is it to the Falls ?' 

" ' Little over half a mile, Sir.' 

" ' Which way do you get there ?' 

" * Turn to the right, and then to the left, and then go 

" Rufe heard all this, and it kinder seemed dark to him ; so 
arter cypherin' it over in his head a bit, * Waiter,' says he, 

* ain't them the Falls of Niagara, I see there ?' 

« ' No, Sir.' 

" * Well, that's tarnation all over now. Not the Falls V 

" ' No, Sir/ 

" * Why, you don't mean to say, that them are ain't 
the Falls ?' 

«* Yes, I do. Sir.' 

" ' Heaven and airth ! I've come hundreds of miles a pup- 
pus to see 'em, and nothin' else ; not a bit ot trade, or specke- 
lation, or any airthly thing but to see them cussed Falls, and 
come as near as 100 cents to a dollar, startin' off without 
sein' 'em arter all. If it hadn't a been for that are Britisher I 
was sold, that's a fact. Can I run down there and back in half 
an hour in time for the stage ?' 

" * Yes, Sir, but you will have no time to see them.' 

See 'em, cuss 'em, I don't want to see 'em, I tell you. 
I want to look at 'em, I want to say I was to the Falls, that's 
all. Give me my hat, quick ! So them ain't the Falls ! I 
ha'n't see'd the Falls of Niagara arteir all, What a devil of a 
take-in that is, ain't it ?' And he dove down stai::s like a 

iff' m 






Newfoundland dog into a pond arter a stone, and out of sight 
in no time. ■ ^' '« ' 

" Now, you are as like Rufe, as two peas, Squire. You 
want to say, you was to Liverpool, but you don't want to see 

«* Waiter." r -v,;-: ^ -..x r ,; - .--;-' • >-- 

"Sir." : /', 

** Is this Liverpool, I see out of the winder ?" - '■'- iv 

"Yes, Sir." 

" Guess I have seen Liverpool then. So this is the 
great city of Liverpool, eh ? When does the train start for 

« In half an hour. Sir?" 

" Book me for London then, for I have been to Liverpool 
and seen the city. Oh, take your place, Squire, you have 
seen Liverpool ; and if you see as much of all other places, as 
you have of this here one, afore you return home, you will 
know most as much of England as them do that never was 
there at all. 

" I am sorry too, you won't go, Squire," added he, *' for 
minister seems kinder dull." 

*• Don't say another word, Mr. Slick," said I ; everything 
shall give way to him." And locking up my writing-desk I 
said : " I am ready." 

" Stop, Squire," said he, " I've got a favour to ask of you. 
Don't for gracious sake, say nothin' before Mr. Hopewell 
about that *ere lark I had last night arter landin', it would 
sorter worry him, and set him off a-preachin', and I'd 
rather he'd strike me any time amost than lectur', for he does 
it so tender and kindly, it hurts my feelins like, a considerable 
sum. I've had a pretty how-do-ye-do about it this mornin', 
and have had to plank down handsum', and do the thing 
genteel ; but Mister Landlord found, I reckon, he had no fool 
to deal with, nother. He comes to me, as soon as I was 
cleverly up this mornin', lookin* as full of importance, as Jube 
Japan did when I put the Legation button on him. 

'• * Bad business this, Sir,' says he ; ' never had such a 
scene in my house before, Sir; have had great difficulty to 
prevent my sarvants takin' the law of you.' 

" 'Ah,' sais I to myself, ' I see how the cat j^. /s; here's 
a little tid bit of extortion now ; but you won't d that no 
go, 1 don't think.' 




" ' You will have to satisfy them. Sir,' says he. ' or take the 

' *Sartainly,' said I, 'any thin' you please: I leave it 
entirely to you ; jist name what you think proper, and I will 
liquidate it.' 

'* I said, I knew you would behave like a gentleman, Sir,* 
sais he, ' for, sais I, don't talk to me of law, name it to the 
gentleman, and he'll do what is right; he'll behave liberal, 
you may depend.' 

" 'You said right,' sais I, 'and now. Si., v.. 's the 
damage ?' , 

" ' Fifty pounds, I should think about the thing. Sir,' 
said he. 

" ' Certainly,' said I, ' you shall have the fifty pounds, but 
you must give me a receipt in full for it.' 

" ' B; cl\ means,' said he, and he was a cuttin' off full chisel 
to get a stamp, when I sais, ' Stop,' sais I, ' uncle, mind and 
put in the receipt, the bill of items, and charge 'em separate ?' 

" ' Bill of items V sais he. 

"Yes,' sais I, 'let me see what each is to get. Well, 
there's the waiter, now. Say to knockin' down the waiter 
and kicking him, so much ; then there's the barmaid so much, 
and so on. I make no objection, I am willin' to pay all you 
ask, but I want to include all, for I intend to post a copy of it 
in the elegant cabins of each of our splendid New York Liners. 
This bouse convenes the Americans — they all i now me. I 
want them to know how their Attach^ was imposed on, and if 
any American ever sets foot in this cussed house agin I will 
p£y his bill, and post that up too, as a letter of credit for him.' 

" * You wouldn't take that advantage of me. Sir V said he. 

" * I take no advantage,' sais I. ' I'll pay you what you 
ask, but you shall never take advantage agin of another free 
and enlightened American citizen, I can tell you.' 

" ' You must keep your money then. Sir,' said he, ' but this 
is not a fair deal ; no gentleman would do it.' 

" 'What's fair, I am willin' to do,' sais I ; 'what's onfair, 
is what you want to do. Now, look here : I knocked the 
waiter down ; here is two sovereigns for him ; I won't pay him 
nothin' for the kickin', for that I give him out of contempt, 
for not defendin' of himself. Here's three sovereigns for the 
bar-maid : she don't ought to have nothin', for she never got 
so innocent a kiss afore, in all her born days I know, for I 




i. '^ 







didn't mean no harm, and she never got so good a one afore 
nother, that's a fact ; but then / ought to pay, I do suppose, 
because I hadn't ought to treat a lady that way ; it wa. )n- 
hansum', that's fact; and besides, it tante right to give the 
galls a taste for such things. They come fast enough in the 
nateral way, do kisses, without inokilatin' folks for 'em. And 
here's a sovereign for the scoldin' and siscerarin' you gave the 
maid, that spilt the coals and that's an eend of the matter, -^d 
I don't want no receipt.' 
- " Well, he bowed and walked off, without sayin' of a word." 

Here Mr. Hopewell joined us, and we descended to the 
street, to commence our perambulation of the city ; but it had 
begun to rain, and we were compelled to defer it until the next 

"Well, it ain't much matter. Squire," said Mr. Slick: 
" ain't that Liverpool, I see out of the winder ? Well, then 
I've been to Liverpool. Book me for London. So I have 
seen Liverpool at last, eh ! or, as Rufus said, I have felt it too, 
for this wet day reminds me of the rest of his story. 

" In about a half-hour arter Rufus raced off to the Falls, 
back he comes as hard as he could tear,a-puffing and a blowin' 
like a sizeable grampus. You never seed such a figure as he 
was, he was wet through and through, and the dry dust 
stickin' to his clothes, made him look like a dog, that had 
jumped into the water, and then took a roll in the road to dry 
hisself ; he was a caution to look at, that's a fact. 

•* * Well,' sais I, * Stranger, did you see the Falls ?' 

" ' Yes,' sais he, • I have see'd 'em and felt 'em too ; them's 
veiy wet Falls, that's a fact. I hante a dry rag on me ; if it 
hadn't a been for that ere Britisher, I wouldn't have see'd *em 
at all, and yet a thought I had been there all the time. It's a 
pity too, that that winder don't bear on it, for then you could 
see it without the trouble of goin' there, or gettin' ducked, or 
gettin* skeered so. I got an awful fright there — I shall never 
forget it, if I live as long as Merusalem. You know I hadn't 
much time left, when I found out I hadn't been there arter 
all, so I ran all the way, right down as hard as I could clip ; 
and, seein' some folks comin* out from onder the Fall. I pushed 
straight in, but the noise actilly stunned me, and the spray wet 
me through and through like a piece of sponged cloth ; and 
the great pourin', bilin' flood, blinded me so I couldn't see a 
bit : and I hadn't gone far in, afore a cold, wet, clammy, dead 

\ \ 



hand, felt my face all over. I believe in my soul, it was the 
Indian squaw that went over the Falls in the canoe, or the 
crazy Englisher, that tried to jump across it. 

•* • Oh creation, how cold it was I The moment that spirit 
rose, mine fell, and I actilly thought I should have dropt lum- 
pus, I was so skeered. Give me your hand, said Ghost, for I 
didn't see nothin* but a kinder dark shader. Give me your 
hand. I think it must ha' been the squaw, for it begged for 
all the world, jist like an Indgian. I'd see you hanged fust, 
said I ; I wouldn't touch that are dead tacky hand o' yourn* 
for half a million o' hard dollars, cash down without any 
ragged eends ; and with that, I turned to run out, but Lord 
love you I couldn't run. The stones was all wet and slimy, 
and onnateral slippy, and I expected every minute, I should 
heels up and go for it : atween them two critters thr; Ghost 
and the juicy ledge, I felt awful skeered I tell you. So I 
begins to say my catechism ; what's your name, sais I ? 
Rufns Dodge. Who gave you that name ? Godfather and 
godmother granny Bells. What did they promise for you? 
That J uld renounce the devil and all his works — works — 
works — 1 couldn't get no farther, I stuck fast there, for I had 
forgot it. 

" ' The moment I stopt, ghost kinder jumped forward, and 
seized me by my mustn't-mention'ems, and most pulled the 
seat out. Oh dear ! my heart most went out along with it, 
for I thought my time had come. You black she-sinner of a 
heathen Indgian ! sais I ; let me go this blessed minite, for I 
renounce the devil and all his works, the devil and all his 
works — so there now ; and I let go a kick behind, the wicked- 
est you ever see, and took it right in the bread basket. Oh, 
it yelled and howled and screached like a wounded hyaena, till 
my ears fairly cracked agin. I renounce you, Satan, sais I ; I 
renoimce you, and the world, and the flesh and the devil. And 
now, sais I, a jumpin' on terry firm once more, and turnin' 
round and facin' the enemy, I'll promise a little dust more for 
myself, and that is to renounce Niagara, and Indgian squaws, 
and dead Britishers, and the whole seed, breed and generation 
of 'em from this time forth, for evermore. Amen. 

" * Oh blazes ! how cold my face is yet. Waiter, half a pint 
of clear cocktail ; somethin' to warm me. Oh, that cold hand ! 
Did you ever touch a dead man's hand? it's awful cold, you 


i I 
I I 

\ \ 




may depend. Is there any marks on my face ? do you see the 
tracks of the fingers there ?' ... 

" • No, Sir,* sais I, * I can't say I do/ 

" • Well, then I feel them there,' sais he, * as plain as any- 

" ' Stranger,' sais I, ' it was nothin' but some poor no- 
souled critter, like yourself, that was skeered a' most to death, 
and wanted to be helped out, that's all/ 

♦• * Skeered !' said he, * sarves him right then ; he might 
have knowed how to feel for other folks, and not funkify them 
so peskily ; I don't keer if he never gets out ; but I have my 
doubts about its bein' a livin' human, I tell you. If I hadn't a 
renounced the devil and all his works that time, I don't know 
what the upshot would have been, for Old Scratch was there 
too. I saw him as plain as I see you ; he ran out afore me, 
and couldn't stop or look back, as long as I said catekism. 
He was in his old shape of the sarpent ; he was the matter of a 
yard long, and as thick round as my arm and travelled belly- 
flounder fashion ; when I touched land, he dodged into an eddy, 
and out of sight in no time. Oh, there is no mistake, I'll take 
my oath of it ; I see him, I did upon my soul. It was the old 
gentleman hisself ; he come there to cool hisself. Oh, it was 
the devil, that's a fact.' 

•* ' It was nothin' but a fresh-water eel>' sais I ; ' I have seen 
thousands of 'em there ; for the crevices of them rocks are 
chock full of 'em. How can you come for to go, for to talk 
arter that fashion ; you are a disgrace to our great nation, you 
great lummokin coward, you. An American citizen is afeerd 
of nothin', but a bad spekilation, or bein' found out.' 

" Well, that posed him, he seemed kinder bothered, and 
looked down. 

*' ' An eel, eh ! well, it mought be an eel,' saia he, ' that's e. 
fact. I didn't think of that ; but then if it was, it was god- 
mother granny Eells, that promised I should renounce the 
devil and all his works, that took that shape, and come to keep 
me to my bargain. She died fifty years ago, poor old soul, 
and never kept company with Indgians, or niggers, or any such 
trash. Heavens and airth ! I don't wonder the Falls wakes 
tlie dead, it makes such an everlastin' almighty noise, does 
Niagara. Waiter, more cocktail, that last was as weak as 
water.' , 

« » 



" ' Yes. Sir,' and he swallered it like wink. 

" * The stage is ready, Sir/ 

** ' Is it ?' said he, and he jumped in all wet as he was ; for 
time is money and he didn't want to waste neither. As it 
drove off, I heerd him say, * Well them's the Falls, eh ! So I 
have seen the Falls of Niagara and felt 'em too, eh I' 

" Now, we are better off than Rufiis Dodge was, Squire ; 
for he hante got wet, and we hante got frightened, but we can 
look out o' the winder and say, ' Well, that's Liverpool, eh ! 
so I have — seen Liverpool.' " 



The rain having confined us to the house this afternoon, we 
sat over our wine after dinner longer than usual. Among the 
different topics that we/e discussed, the most prominent was 
the state of the political parties in this country. Mr. Slick, 
who paid great deference to the opinions of Mr. Hopewell, was 
anxious to ascertain from him what he thought upon the sub- 
ject, in order to regulate his conduct and conversation by it 

" Minister," said he, " what do you think of the politics of 
the British ?" 

*' I don't think about them at all, Sam. I hear so much of 
such matters at home, that I am heartily tired of them ; our 
political world is divided into two classes, the knaves and the 
dupes. Don't let us talk of such exciting things." 

" But, Minister," said Mr. Slick, " holdin' the high and 
dignified station I do, as Attache, they will be a-pumpin' me 
for everlastinly, will the great men here, and they think a 
pkguy sight more of our opinion than you are aware on ; we 
have tried all them things they are a jawin' about here, and 
they naterally want to know the results. Cooper says not one 
Tory called on him when he was to England, but Walter Scott ; 
and that I take it, was more lest folks should think he was 
jealous of him, than anything else ; they jist cut him as dead 
as a skunk ; but among the Whigs he was quite an oracle on 
ballot, univarsal suffrage, and all other democratic institutions." 

B 2 


*' Well, he was a ninny, then, was Cooper, to go and blart 
it all out to the world that way ; for if no Tory visited him, I 
should like you to ask him the next time you see him, how 
many gentlemen called upon him ? Jist usk him that, and it 
will stop him from writing such stuff any more." 

" But, Minister, jist tell us now, here you are, as a body 
might say in England, now what are you ?'* 

" I am a man, Sam ; Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum 

" Well, what's all that when it's fried ?" ' ' 

" Why, that when away from home, I am a citizen of the 
world. I belong to no party, but take an interest in the whole 
human family." 

" Well, Minister, if you choose to sing dumb, you can, but 
I should like to have you answer me one question now, and if 
you won't, why you must jist do t'other thing, that's all. Are 
you a Consarvative ?'* 

"No." • ; ,,.-..i 

" Are you a Whig ?'* . i^;, . 

"No." :A 

"A Radical?" - ,;'. 

"God forbid!" 

" What in natur' are you then V* 

" A Tory." - - ■ 

" A Tory ! well, I thought that a Tory and a Consarvative, 
were as the Indgians say, ' all same one brudder.' Where 
is the difference ?" 

" You will soon find that out, Sam ; go and talk to a Con- 
sarvative as a Tory, and you will find he is a Whig : go and 
talk to him again as a Whig, and you will find he is a Tory. 
They are, for all the world, like a sturgeon. There is very 
good beef steaks in a sturgeon, and very good fish too, and 
yet it tante either fish or flesh. I don't like taking a new 
name, it looks amazing like taking new principles, or, at all 
events, like loosenin' old ones, and I hante seen the creed of 
this new sect yet — I don't know what its tenets are, nor 
where to go and look for 'em. It strikes me they don't 
accord with the Tories, and yet arn't in tune with the Whigs, 
but are half a note lower than the one, and half a note higher 
ihan t'other. Now, changes in the body politic are always 
necessary more or less, in order to meet the changes of time, 
and the changes in the condition of man. When they are 

1 1 



■ ■■ I 

, nor 

fMcessaiy, make 'em. and ha' done with 'em. Make 'em like 
men, not when you are forced to do so, and nobody thanks 
you, but when you see they are wanted, and are proper ; but 
don't alter your name. 

" My wardens wanted me to do that ; they came to me, and 
said * Minister,' says they, ' we don't want you to change, we 
don't ask it ; jist let us call you a Unitarian, and you can 
remain Episcopalian still. We are tired of that old-fashioned 
name, it's generally thought unsuited to the times, and be- 
hind the enlightenment of the age ; it's only fit for benighted 
Europeans. Change the name, you needn't change anything 
else. What in a name V 

*' ' Everything,' says I, • everything, my brethren ; one 
name belongs to a Christian, and the other don't ; that's the 
difference. I'd die before I surrendered my name ; for in sur- 
renderin' that, I surrender my principles.' " 

••Exactly." said Mr. SUck, "that's what Brother Eldad 
used to say. ' Sam,' said he, ' a man with an alias is the 
worst character in the world ; for takin' a new name, shows 
he is ashamed of his old one ; and havin' an old one, shows 
his new one is a cheat.' " 

'* No," said Mr. Hopewell, " I don't like that word Con- 
sarvative. Them folks may be good kind of people, and I 
guess they be, seein' that the Tories support 'em, which is the 
best thing I see about them; but I don't like changin' a 

" Well, I don't know," said Mr. Slick, *• p'raps their old 
name was so infarnal dry rotted, they wanted to change it for 
a sound new one. You recollect when that super- superior 
villain. Expected Thome, brought an action of defamation 
agin' me, to SUckville, for takin' away his character, about 
stealing the watch to Nova Scotia ; well, I jist pleaded my 
own case, and I ups and sais, * Gentlemen of the Jury,' sais 
I, '* Expected's character, every soul knows, is about the wust 
in all Slickville. If I have taken it away, I have done him a great 
sarvice, for he has a smart chance of gettin' a better one ; and 
if he don't find a swap to his mind, why no character is be>t' r 
nor a bad one.' 

"Well, the old judge and the whole court larfrd right out 
like any thin' ; and the jury, without stirrin' from the box, 
returned a vardict for the defendant. P'raps now, that 
xnought be the case with the Tories." 



THE attache; 

"The difference," said Mr. Hopewell, "is jist this: — your 
friend, Mr. Expected Thome, had a name he had ought to 
have been ashamed of, and the Tories one that the whole 
nation had very great reason to be proud of. Inhere is some 
little difference, you must admit. My English politics (mind 
you, I say English, for they have no reference to America) are 
Tory, and I don't want to go to Sir Robert Peel, or Lord 
John Russell either." 

" As for Johnny Russell," said Mr. Slick, " he is a clever 
little chap that ; he — " 

" Don't call him Johnny Russell," said Mr. Hopewell, " or 
a little chap, or such flippant names, I don't like to hear you 
talk that way. It neither becomes you as a Christian nor a 
gentleman. St. Luke and St. Paul, when addressing people 
of rank, use the word * KpaTiorros* which, as nearly as pos- 
sible, answers to the title of * your Excellency.' Honour, we 
are told, should be given to those to whom honour is due ; and 
if we had no such authority on the s'ibject, the omission of 
titles, where they are usual and legal, is, to say the least of 
it, a vulgar familiarity, ill becoming an Attach^ of our Embassy. 
But as I was saying, I do not require to go to either of those 
statesmen to be instructed in my politics. I take mine where 
I take my religion, from the Bible. ' Fear God, honour the 
King, and meddle not with those that are given to change.* " 

'* Oh, Minister," said Mr. Slick, *' you mis't a figur at our 
glorious Revolution, you had ought to have held on to the 
British ; they would have made a bishop of you, and shoved 
you into the House of Lords, black apron, lawn sleeves, shovel 
hat and all, as sure as rates. ' The right reverend, the Lord 
Bishop of Slickville :' wouldn't it look well on the back of a 
letter, eh ? or your signature to one sent to me, signed ' Joshua 
Slickville.' It sounds better, that, than ' Old Minister,* 
don't it?" 

"Oh, if you go for to talk that way, Sam, I am done; but 
I will show you that the Tories are the men to govern this 
great nation. A Tory I may say * noscitur a sociis.' '* 

" What in natur is that, when it's biled and the skin took 
off?'* asked Mr. Slick. 

" Why is it possible you don't know that ? Have you for- 
gotten that common schoolboy phrase ?'* 

•' Guess I do know ; but it don't tally jist altogether nohow, 
as it were. Known as a Socialist, isn't it ?" 





" If Sir," said Mr. Hopewell, with much earnestness, " if 
instead of ornamenting your conversation with cant terms, and 
miserable slang, picked up from the lowest refuse of our popu- 
lation, both east and west, you had cultivated your mind, and 
enriched it with quotations from classical writers, you would 
have been more like an Attache, and less like a peddling clock- 
maker than you are." 

" Minister," said Mr. Slick, " I was only in jeest, but you 
are in airnest. What you have said is too true for a joke, and 
I feel it. I was only a sparrin' ; but you took off the gloves, 
and felt my short ribs in a way that has given me a stitch in 
the side. It tante fair to kick that way afore you are spurred. 
You've hurt me considerable." 

" Sam, I am old, narvous, and irritable. I was wrong to 
speak unkindly to you, very wrong indeed, and I am sorry for 
it ; but don't teaze me no more, that's a good lad ; for I feel 
worse than you do about it. I beg your pardon, I " 

" Well," said Mr. Slick, " to get back to what we was a 
sayin', for you do talk like a book, that's a fact ; ' noscitur a 
sociis,' says you." 

" Ay, ' Birds of a feather flock together,' as the old maxim 
goes. Now, Sam, who supported the Whigs }" 

" Why, let me see ; a few of the lords, a few of the gentry, 
the repealers, the meinufacturin' folks, the independents, the 
baptists, the dissentin' Scotch, the socialists, the radicals, the 
discontented, and most of the lower orders, and so on." 

" Well, who supported the Tories ?" 

" Why, the majority of the lords, the great body of landed 
gentry, the univarsities, the whole of the Church of England, 
the whole of the methodists amost, the principal part of the 
kirk, the great marchants, capitalists, bankers, lawyers, army 
and navy officers, and so on.'* 

" Now don't take your politics from me, Sam, for I am no 
poUtician ; but as an American citizen, judge for yourself, 
which of those two parties is most likely to be right, or which 
would you Uke to belong to.'* 

"Well, I must say," replied he, "I rfo think that the larnin', 
piety, property, and respectability, is on the Tory side ; and 
where all them things is united, right most commonly is found 
a-joggin' along in company." 

" Well now, Sam, you know we are a calculatin' people, a 
commercial people, a practical people. Europe laughs at us 
for it. Perhaps if they attended better to their own financial 






■H ■i'1 



\ ■;' 


- ■ I 




I I 


affairs, they would be in a better situation to laugh. But still 
we must look to facts and results. How did the Tories, when 
they went out of office, leave the kingdom ? At peace ?" 

•• Yes, with all the world." 

" How did the Whigs leave it ?" 

" With three wars on hand, and one in the vat a-brewin' 
with America. Every great interest injured, some ruined, 
and all alarmed at the impendin' danger — of national bank- 

" Well, now for dollars and cents. How did the Tories 
leave the treasury ?" * 

" With a surplus revenue of millions." 

" How did tlie Whigs ?" 

" With a deficiency that made the nation scratch their head, 
and stare agin." 

" I could go through the details with you, as far as my im- 
perfect information extends, or more imperfect memory would 
let me ; but it is all the same, and always will be, here, in 
France, with us, in the colonies, and everywhere else. When- 
ever property, talent, and virtue are all on one side, and only 
ignorant numbers, with a mere sprinkling of property and 
talent to agitate 'em and make use of 'em, or misinformed or 
mistaken virtue to sanction 'em on the other side, no honest 
man can take long to deliberate which side he will choose. 

"As to those Conservatives, I don't know what to say, Sam ; 
I should like to put you right if I could. But I'll tell you 
what puzzles me. I ask myself, what is a Tory ? I find he is 
a man who goes the whole figur' for the support of the mo- 
narchy, in its three orders, of king, lords, and commons, as by 
law established ; that he is for the connexion of Church and 
State, and so on ; and that a'j the v^ealthiest man in England, 
he offers to prove his sincerity, by paying the greatest part of 
the taxes to uphold these things. Well, then I ask what is 
Conservitism } I am told that it means, what it imports, a 
conservation of things as they are. Where, then, is the dif- 
ference ? If there is no difference, it is a mere juggle to change 
the name : if there is a difference, the wot U is worse than a juggle, 
for it don't import any.'* 

" Tell you what," said Mr. Slick, *' I heerd an old critter 
to Halifax once describe 'em beautiful. He said he could tell 
a man's politicks by his shirt. 'A Tory, Sir,' said he, for he 
was a porapious old boy was old Blue-Nose ; 'a Tory, Sir,* 
said he, * is a gentleman every inch of him, stock, lock, and 



barrel ; and he puts a clean frill shirt on every day. A Whig, 
Sir,' says he, *is a gentleman every other inch of him, and he 
puts an onfrilled one on every other day, A Radical. Sir, 
ain't no gentleman at all, and he only putb on .' on of a Sunday. 
But a Chartist, Sir, is a loafer ; he never puts one on till 
the old one won't hold together no longer, and drops off in 
pieces.' " 

"Pooh!" said Mr. Hopewell, "now don't talk nonsense; 
but as I was a-goin' to say, I am a plain man, and a straight- 
forward man, Sam ; what 1 say, I mean ; and what I mean, 
I say. Private and public life are subject to the same rules ; 
and truth and manliness are two qualities that will carry you 
through this world much better than policy, or tact, or expe- 
diency, or any other word that ever was devised to conceal, or 
mystify a deviation from the straight line. They have a 
stirtificate of character, these Consarvatives, in having the 
support of the Tories ; but that don't quite satisfy me. It 
may. perhaps, mean no more than this, arter all — they are the 
best sarvants we have ; but not as good as we want. How- 
ever, I shall know more about it soon ; and when I do, I will 
give you my opinion candidly. One thing, however, is certain, 
a change in the institutions of a country I could accede to, 
approve, and support, if necessary and good ; but I never can 
approve of either an individual or a party — ' changing a name' '* 



The following day being dry, we walked out to view the 
wonders of this great commercial city of England, Liverpool. The 
side-paths were filled with an active and busy population, and 
the main streets thronged with heavily-laden waggons, convey- 
ing to the docks the manufactures of the country, or carrying 
inward the productions of foreign nations. It was an animat- 
ing and busy scene. 

" This," said Mr. Hopewell, " is solitude. It is in a place 
like this, that you feel yourself to be an isolated being, when 
you are surrounded by multitudes who have no sympathy with 





you, to whom you are not only wholly unknown, but not one 
of whom you have ever seen before. 

** The solitude of the vast American forest is not equal to 
this. Encompassed by the great objects of nature, you recog- 
nise nature's God every where ; you feel his presence, and 
rely on his protection. Everything in a city is artificial, the 
predominant idea is man ; and man, under circumstances like 
the present, is neither your friend nor protector. You form 
no part of the social system here. Gregarious by nature, you 
cannot associate ; dependent, you cannot attach yourself ; a 
rational being, you cannot interchange ideas. In seeking the 
wilderness you enter the abode of solitude, and are naturally 
and voluntarily alone. On visiting a city, on the contrary, 
you enter the residence of man, and if you are forced into 
isolation there, to you it is worse than a desert. 

" I know of nothing so depressing as this feeling of uncon- 
nected individuality, amidst a dense population like this. But, 
my friend, there is One who never forsakes us either in the 
throng or the wilderness, whose ear is always open to our 
petitions, and who has invited us to rely on his goodness and 

•• You hadn't ought to feel lonely here. Minister," said 
Mr. Slick. " It's a place we have a right to boast of is Liver- 
pool ; we built it, and I'll tell you what it is, to build two such 
cities as New York and Liverpool in the short time we did, is sun- 
thin' to brag of. If there had been no New York, there would 
have been no Liverpool ; but if there had been no Liverpool, 
there would have been a New York though. They couldn't 
do nothin' without us. We had to build them elegant line- 
packets for 'em ; they couldn't build one that could sail, and 
if she sail'd she couldn't steer, and if she sail'd and steer'd, 
she upsot ; there was always a screw loose somewhere. 

" It cost us a great deal too to build them ere great docks. 
They cover about seventy acres, I reckon. We have to pay 
heavy port dues to keep 'em up, and liquidate interest on 
capital. The worst of it is, too, while we pay for all this, we 
hante got the direction of the works." 

" If you have paid for all these things, ** said I, "you had 
better lay claim to Liverpool. Like the disputed territory (to 
which it now appears, you knew you had no legal or equitable 
claim), it is probable you will have half of it ceded to you, for 
the purpose of conciliation. I admire this boast of yours 




uncommonly. It reminds me of the conversation we had 
some years ago, about the device on your * naval button,* of 
the eagle holding an anchor in its claws — that national emblem 
of ill-directed ambition, and vulgar pretension." 

" I thank you for that hint," said Mr. Slick, ** I was in jeest 
like; but there is more in it, for all that, than you'd think. 
It ain't literal fact, but it is figurative truth. But now I'll 
show you sunthin' in this town, that's as false as paijury, sun- 
thin' that's a disgrace to this country and an insult to our great 
nation, and there is no jeest in it nother, but a downright lie ; 
and, since you go for to throw up to me our naval button with 
its ' eagle and anchor,' I'll point out to you sunthin' a hundred 
thousand million times wus. What was the name o' that 
English admiral folks made such a touss about ; that cripple- 
gaited, one-eyed, one-armed little naval critter ?" 

" Do you mean Lord Nelson ?" 

" I do," said he, and pointing to his monument, he con- 
tinued, " There he is as big as life, five feet nothin', with his 
shoes on. Now, examine that monument, and tell me if the 
English don't know how to brag, as well as some other folks, 
and whether they don't brag too sumtimes, when they hante 
got no right to. There is four figures there a representing the 
four quarters of the globe in chains, and among them America, 
a crouchin' down, and a-beggin' for life, like a mean heathen 
Ingin. Well, jist do the civil now, and tell me when that little 
braggin' feller ever whipped us, will you } Jist tell me the 
day of the year he was ever able to do it, since his mammy cut 
the apron-string and let him run to seek his fortin.' Heavens 
and airth, we'd a chawed him right up ! 

" No, there never was an ofltxcer among you that had any- 
thing to brag of about us but one, and he wasn't a Britisher — 
he was a despisable Blue-nose colonist boy of Halifax. When 
his captain was took below wounded, he was leftenant, so he 
jist ups and tal 2S command o' the 'Shannon,' and fit like 
a tiger and took our splendid frigate the ' Chesapeake,' and that 
was sumthing to brag on. And what did he get for it ? Why 
colony sarce, half-pay, and leave to make room for Englishers 
to go over his head ; and here is a lyin' false monument, erected 
to this man that never see'd one of our national ships, much 
less smelt thunder and lightning out of one, that English like, 
has got this for what he didn't do. 




THE attache; 

*• I am sorry Mr. Lett* is dead to Canada, or I'd give him 
a hint about this. I'd say, ' I hope none of our free and 
enlightened citizens will blow this lyin', s\yaggerin', buUyin' 
monument up ? I should be sorry for 'em to take notice of 
such vulgar insolence as this ; for bullies will brag.' He'd 
wink and say, ' I won't non-concur with you, Mr. Slick. I 
hope it won't be bio wed up ; but wishes like dreams come con- 
trary ways sometimes, and I shouldn't much wonder if it 
bragged till it bust some night.' It would go for it, that's a 
fact. For Mr. Lett has a kind of nateral genius for blowin' up 
of monuments. 

" Now you talk of our Eagle takin' an anchor in its claws as 
bad taste. I won't say it isn't ; but it is a nation sight better 
nor this. See what the little admiral critter is about! why he 
is a stampin' and a jabbin' of the iron heel of his boot into the 
lifeless body of a fallen foe ! It's horrid disgustin', and ain't 
overly brave nother; and to make matters wus, as if this 
wam't bad enough, them four emblem figures have great heavy 
iron chains on 'em, and a great enormous sneezer of a lion has 
one part o' the chain in its mouth, and is a-growlin' and 
a-grinnin' and a-snarling at 'em like mad, as much as to say, 
' if you dare to move the sixteen hundredth part of an inch, I 
will fall to and make mince-meat of you in less than half no 
time.' I don't think there never was ngthin' so bad as this, 
ever seen since the days of old daddy Adam down to this pre- 
sent blessed day, I don't indeed. So don't come for to go. 
Squire, to tarnt me with the Eagle and the anchor no more, for 
I don't like it a bit ; you'd better look to your ♦ Nelson monu- 
menf and let us alone. So come now !" 

Amidst much that was coarse, and more that was exagge- 
rated, there was still some foundation for the remarks of the 

" You arrogate a little too much to yourselves," I observed, 
" in considering the United States as all America. At the 
time these brilliant deeds were achieved, which this monument 
is intended to commemorate, the Spaniards owned a very much 
greater portion of the transatlantic continent than you now do, 
and their navy composed a part of the hostile fleets which were 

* This was the man that blew up the Brock monument in Canada. 
He was a Patriot. 



destroyed by Lord Nelson. At that time, also, you had no 
navy, or at all events, so few ships, as scarcely to deservt the 
name of one ; nor had you won for yourselves that high cha- 
racter, which you now so justly enjoy, for skill and gallantry. 
I agree with you, however, in thinking the monument is in 
bad taste. The name of Lord Nelson is its own monument. 
It will survive when these perishable structures, which the 
pride or the gratitude of his countrymen have erected to perpe- 
tuate his fame, shall have mouldered into dust, and been for- 
gotten for ever. If visible objects are thought necessary to 
suggest the mention of his name oftener than it would other- 
wise occur to the mind, they should be such as to improve the 
taste, as well as awaken the patriotism of the beholder. As an 
American, there is nothing to which you have a right to object, 
but as a critic, I admit that there is much that you cannot 
approve in the ' Nelson Monument.' " 



On the tenth day after we landed at Liverpool, we arrived 
in London and settled ourselves very comfortably in lodgings 
at No. 202, Piccadilly, where every possible attention was 
paid to us by our landlord and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Weeks. 
We performed the journey in a post-chaise, fearing that the 
rapid motion of a rail car might have an unpleasant effect upon 
the health of Mr. Hopewell. 

Of the little incidents of travel that occurred to us, or of the 
various objects of attraction on the route, it is not my inten- 
tion to give any account. Our journey was doubtless much 
like the journeys of other people, and everything of local in- 
terest is to be found in Guide Books, or topographical works, 
which are within the reach of every body. 

This book, however imperfect its execution may be, is alto- 
gether of another kind. I shall therefore pass over this and 
other subsequent journeys, with no other remark, than that 
they were performed, until something shall occur illustrative 
of the objects I have in view. 

On this occasion I shall select from ray diary a description 


I J 

' Ik,] 

!. < 




' > 

of the labourer's cottage, and the parish chhrch ; because the 
one shows the habits, tastes, and condition of the poor of this 
country, in contrast with that of America — and the other, the 
relative means of religious instruction, and its effect on the 
lower orders. 

On the Saturday morning, while preparing to resume our 
journey, which was now nearly half- completed, Mr. Hopewell 
expressed a desire co remain at the inn where we were, until 
the following Monday. As the day was fine, he said he should 
like to ramble about the neighbourhood, and enjoy the fresh 
air. His attention was soon drawn to some very beautiful 
new cottages. 

*' These," said he, " are no doubt erected at the expense, 
and for the gratification of some great landed proprietor. 
They are not the abodes of ordinary labourers, but de- 
signed for some favoured dependant or aged servant. They 
are expensive toys, but still they are not without their use. 
They diffuse a taste among the peasantry — they present them 
with models, which, though they cannot imitate in costliness 
of material or finish, they can copy in arrangement, and in that 
sort of decoration which flowers, and vines, and culture, and 
care can give. Let us seek one which is peculiarly the poor 
man's cottage, and let us go in and see who and what they 
are, how they live, and above all, how they think and talk. 
Here is a lane, let us follow it, till we come to a habitation." 

We turned into a grass road, bounded on either side by 
a high straggling thorn edge. At its termination was an 
irregular cottage with a thatched roof, which projected over 
the windows in front. The latter were latticed with diamond- 
shaped panes of glass, and were four in number, one on each 
side of the door and two just under the roof. The door was 
made of two transverse parts, the upper half of which was 
open. On one side was a basket-like cage containing a magpie, 
and on the other, a cat lay extended on a bench, dozing in the 
warmth of the sun. The blue smoke, curling upwards from a 
crooked chimney, aiForded proof of some one being within. 

We therefore opened a little gate, and proceeded through a 
neat garden, in which flowers and vegetables were intermixed. 
It had a gay appearance from the pear, apple, thorn and cherry 
being all in full bloom. We were received at the door by a 
middle-aged woman, with the ruddy glow of health on her 
cheeks, and dressed in coarse, plain, but remarkably neat and 



suitable, attire. As this was a cottage selected at random, and 
visited without previous intimation of our intention, I took par- 
ticular notice of everything I saw, because I regarded its ap- 
pearance as a fair specimen of its constant and daily state. 

Mr. Hopewell needed no introduction. His appearance told 
what he was. His great stature and erect bearing, his intelli- 
gent and amiable face, his noble forehead, his beautiful snow- 
white locks, his precise and antique dress, his simplicity of 
manner, everything, in short, about him, at once attracted 
attention and conciliated favour. 

Mrs. Hodgins, for such was her name, received us with 
that mixture of respect and ease, which showed she was accus- 
tomed to converse with her superiors. She was dressed in a 
blue homespun gown (the sleeves of which were drawn up to 
her elbows and the lower part tucked through her pocket- hole), 
a black stuff petticoat, black stockings and shoes with the 
soles more than half an inch thick. She wore also a large 
white apron, and a neat and by no means unbecoming cap. 
She informed us her husband was a gardener's labourer, that 
supported his family by his daily work, and by the proceeds 
of the little garden attached to the house, and invited us to 
come in and sit down. 

The apartment into which the door opened was a kitchen or 
common room. On one side m s a large fire-place, the mantel- 
piece or shelf of which was filled with brass candlesticks, 
large and small, some queer old-fashioned lamps, snuffers and 
trays, polished to a degree of brightness, that was dazzling. 
A dresser was carried round the wall, filled with plates and 
dishes, and underneath were exhibited the ordinary culinary 
utensils, in excellent > ider. A small table stood before the 
fire, with a cloth of spotless whiteness spread upon it, as if in 
preparation for a meal. A few stools completed the furniture. 

Passing through this place, we were shown into the parlour, 
a small room with a sanded floor. Against the sides were 
placed some old, dark, and highly-polished chairs, of antique 
form and rude workmanship. The walls were decorated with 
several coloured prints, illustrative of the Pilgrim's Progress, 
and hung in small red frames of about six inches square. The 
fire-place was filled with moss, and its mantel-shelf had its 
china sheep and shepherdesses, and a small looking-glass, the 
whole being surmounted by a gun hung transversely. The 
Lord's Prayer and the Ten Commandments worked in worsted. 


I '' 



i Bti 

3 K 



, '111 


! I 







were suspended in a wooden frame between the windows, 
which had white musUn blinds, and opened on hinges, like a 
door. A cupboard made to fit the corner, in a manner to 
economise room, was filled with china mugs, cups and saucers 
of different sizes and patterns, some old tea-spoons and a 
plated tea-pot. 

There was a small table opposite to the window, which con- 
tained half a dozen books. One of these was large, hand- 
somely bound, and decorated with gilt-edged paper. Mr. 
Hopewell opened it, and expressed great satisfaction at finding 
such an edition of a Bible in such a house. Mrs. Hodgins 
explained that this was a present from her eldest son, who had 
tlius appropriated his first earnings to the gratification of his 

" Creditable to you both, dear," said Mr. Hopewell : " to 
' you, because it is a proof how well you have instructed him ; 
and to him, that he so well appreciated and so faithfully re- 
membered those lessons of duty." 

He then inquired into the state of her family, whether the 
boy who was training a peach-tree against the end of the 
house was her son, and many other matters not necessary to 
record with the same precision that I have enumerated the 

" Oh, here is a pretty little child !" said he. " Come here, 
dear, and shake hands along with me. What beautiful hair 
she has ! and she looks so clean and nice, too. Everything 
and every body here is sc neat, so tidy, and so appropriate. 
Kiss me, dear ; and then talk to me ; for I love little children. 
* Suflfer them to come unto me,* said our Master, ' for of such 
is the kingdom of Heaven :' that is, that we should resemble 
these little ones in our innocence." 

He then took her on his knee. " Can you say the Lord's 
Prayer, dear ?" 

"Yes, Sir?" 

" Very good. And the ten Commandments ?" 

" Yes, Sir." 

" Who taught you }" 

" My mother, Sir ; and the parson taught me the Catechism." 

" Why, Sam, this child can say the Lord's Prayer, the ten 
Commandments, and the Catechism. Ain't this beautiful ? 
Tell me the fifth, dear." 

And the child repeated it distinctly and accurately. 




" Right. Now. dear, always bear that in mind, especially 
towards your r Dther. You have an excellent mother ; her 
cares and her toils are many ; and amidst them all, how well 
she has done her duty to you. The only way she can be re- 
paid, is to find that you are what she desires you to be, a good 
girl. Ood commands this return to be made, and offers you 
the reward of length of days. Here is a piece of money for 
you. And now, dear," placing her again upon her feet, " you 
never saw so old a man as me, and never will again ; and one, 
too, that came from a far-off country, three thousand miles 
off ; it would take you a long time to count three thousand ; it 
is so far. Whenever you do what you ought not, think of the 
advice of the ' old Minister.' " 

Here Mr. Slick beckoned the modier to the door, and 
whispered something to her, of which the only words that met 
my ear were "a trump,*' " a brick," " the other man like him 
ain't made yet," " do it, he'll talk, then." 

To wluch she replied, " I have — oh yes, Sir^by all means." 

She tli.en advanced to Mr. Hopewell, and asked him if he 
would like to smoke. 

" Indeed I would, dear> but I have no pipe here." 

She said her old man smoked of an evening, after his work 
was done, and that she could give him a pipe and some to- 
bacco, if he would condescend to use them ; and going to the 
cupboard, she produced a long white clay pipe and some cut 

Having filled and lighted his pipe, Mr. Hopewell said,, 
" What church do you go to, dear ?" 

" The parish church, Sir." 

** Right ; you will hear sound doctrine and good morals 
preached there. Oh this a fortunate country, Sam, for the 
state provides for the religious instruction of t^e poor. Where 
the voluntary system prevails, the poor have to give from their 
poverty, or go without ; and their gifts are so small, that they 
can purchase but little. It's a beautiful system* a charitable 
system, a Christian system. Who is your landlord!" 

" Squire Merton, Sir; and one of the kindest masters, too^ 
that ever was. He is so good to the poor ; and the ladies. 
Sir, they are so kind, also. When my poor daughter Mary 
was so ill with the fever, I do think she would have died but 
for the attentions of those young ladies ; and when she grew 
better, they sent her wine and nourishing things from their 


THE attache; 




own table. They will be so glad to see you, Sir, at the Priory. 
Oh, I wish you could see them !" 

" There it is, Sam," he continued : " That illustrates what 
I always told you of their social system here. We may boast 
of our independence, but that independence produces isolation. 
There is an individuality about every man and every family in 
America, that gives no right of inquiry, and imposes no duty 
of relief on any one. Sickness, and sorrow, and trouble, are 
not divulged ; joy, success, and happiness are not imparted. 
If we are independent in our thoughts and actions, so are we 
left to sustain the burden of our own ills. How applicable to 
our state is that passage of Scripture, ' The heart knoweth its 
own bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy.' 

" Now, look at this poor family ; here is a clergyman pro- 
vided for them, whom they do not, and are not even expected 
to pay ; their spiritual wants are ministered to, faithfully and 
zealously, as we see by the instruction of that little child. 
Here is a friend upon whom they can rely in their hour of 
trouble, as the bereaved mother did on Elisha. 'And she 
went up and laid her child that was dead on the bed of the 
man of Ood, and shut the door on him, and went out.' And 
when a long train of agitation, mis-government, and ill- 
digested changes have deranged this happy country, as has 
recently been the case, here is an indulgent landlord, disposed 
to lower his rent or give further time for payment, or if sick- 
ness invades any of these cottages, to seek out the sufferer, to 
afford the remedies, and by his countenance, his kindness, and 
advice, to alleviate their troubles. Here it is, a positive duty 
arising from their relative situations of landlord and tenant. 
The tenants support the owner, the landlord protects the 
tenants : the duties are reciprocal. 

" With us the duties, as far as Christian duties can be said 
to be optional, are voluntary ; and the voluntary discharge of 
duties, like the voluntary support of religion, we know, from 
sad experience, to be sometimes imperfectly performed, at 
others intermitted, and often wholly neglected. Oh ! it is a 
happy country this, a great and a good country ; and how 
base, how wicked, how diabolical it is to try to s6t such a 
family as this against their best friends, their pastor and their 
landlord ; to instil dissatisfaction and distrust into their simple 
minds, and to teach them to loathe the hand that proffers 
nothing but regard or relief. It is shocking, isn't it?" 



' That's what I often say, Sir," said Mrs. Hodgins, "to 
vjy old man, to keep away from them Chartists." 

Ci»artiats! dear, who are they ? I never heard of them." 

" Why, Sir, they are the men that waht the five pints." 

" Five pints ! why you don't say so ; oh ! they are bad men, 
have nothing to do with them. Five pints ! why that is two 
quarts and a half ; that is too much to drink if it was water ; 
and if anything else, it is beastly drunkenness. Have nothing 
to do with them.^ 

•* Oh ! no. Sir, it is five points of law." 

** Tut — tut — tut ! what have you got to do with law, my 

" By gosh, Aunty," said Mr. Slick, " you had better not 
cut that pie : you will find it rather sour in the apple sarce, 
and tough in the paste, I tell you." 

" Yes, Sir," she replied, " but they are a unsettling of his 
mind. What shall I do ? for I don't like these night meetings, 
and he always comes home from 'em cross and sour-like." 

" Well, I am sorry to hear that," said Mr. Hopewell, " I 
wish I could see him ; but I can't, for I am bound on a jour- 
ney. I am sorry to hear it, dear. Sam, this country is so 
beautiful, so highly cultivated, so adorned by nature and art, 
and contains so much comfort and happiness, that it resembles 
almost the garden of Eden. But, Sam, the Serpent is here, 
the Serpent is here beyond a doubt. It changes its shape, 
and alters its name, and takes a new colour, but still it is the 
Serpent, and it ought to be crushed. Sometimes it calls itself 
liberal, then radicid, then chartist, then agitator, then repealer, 
then political dissenter, then anti-corn leaguer, and so on. 
Sometimes it stings the clergy, and coils round them, and 
almost strangles them, for it knows the Church is its greatest 
enemy, and it is furious against it. Then it attacks the peers, 
and covers them with its froth and slaver, and then it bites 
the landlord. Then it changes form, and shoots at the Queen, 
or her ministers, and sets fire to build 'ngs, and burns up corn 
to increase distress ; and, when hur .ed away, it dives down 
into the collieries, or visits the manufactories, and maddens 
the people, and urges them on to plunder and destruction. 
It's a melancholy thing to think of; but he is as of old, alive 
and active, seeing whom he can allure and deceive, and who- 
ever listens is ruined for ever. 

"Stay, dear, I'll tell you what I will do for you. I'll 

F 2 







i ; 

inquire about these Chartists ; and when I go to London, I 
will write a little tract so plain that any child may read it and 
understand it ; and call it The Chartist, and get it printed, and 
I will send you one for your husband, and two or three others, 
to give to those whom they may benefit. 

" And now, dear, I must go. You and I will never meet 
again in this world ; but I shall often think of you, and often 
speak of you. I shall tell my people of the comforts, of the 
neatness, of the beauty of an English cottage. May God bless 
you, and so regulate your mind as to preserve in you a reve- 
rence for his holy word, an obedience to the commands of your 
Spiritual Pastor, and a respect for all that are placed in autho- 
rity over you!" 

" Well, it is pretty, too, is this cottage," said Mr. Slick, as 
we strolled back to the inn, " but the handsumestest thing is 
to hear that good old soul talk dictionary that way, aint it .'' 
How nateral he is ! Guess they don't often see such a 'postle 
as that in these diggins. Yes, it's pretty is this cottage ; but 
it's small, arter all. You feel like a squirrel in a cage, in it ; 
you have to run round and round, and don't go forward none. 
What would a man do with a rifle here ? For my part, I have 
a taste for the wild woods ; it comes on me regular in the fall, 
like the lake fever, and I up gun, and off for a week or two, 
and camp out, and get a snufF of the spruce-wood air, and a 
good appetite, and a bit of fresh ven'son to sup on at night. 

" I shall be oflF to the highlands this fall ; but, cuss 'em, 
they hante got no woods there ; nothin' but heather, and that's 
ouly high enough to tear your clothes. That's the reason the 
Scotch don't wear no breeches, they don't like to get 'em 
ragged up that way for evcrlastinly, they can't afford it ; so 
they let 'em scratch and tear their skin, for that will grow 
agin, and trowsers won't. 

" Yes, it's a pretty cottage that, and a nice tidy body that 
too, is Mrs. Hodgins. I've seen the time when I would have 
given a good deal to have been so well housed as that. There 
is some little difference atween that cottage and a log hut of a 
poor back emigrant settler, you and I know where. Did ever 
I tell you of the night I spent at Lake Teal, with old Judge 
Sandford ?" 

" No, not that I recollect." 

*' Well, once upon a time I was a-goin' from Mill-bridge to 
Sbadbrooke, on a little matter of bisness, and an awful bad and 



lonely road it was, too. There was scarcely no settlers in it , 
and the road was all made of sticks, stones, mud holes, and 
broken bridges. It was een amost onpassible, and w^ o should 
I overtake on the way but the Judge, and his guide, on horse- 
back, and Lawyer Traverse a-joggin' along in bis gig, at the 
rate of two miles an hour at the fardest. 

" ' Mornin,' sais the Judge, for he was a sociable man, and 
had a kind word for every body, had the Judge. Few men 
know'd human natur' better nor he did, and what he used to 
call the philosophy of life. ' I am glad to see you on the road, 
Mr. Slick,' sais he, ' for it is so bad I am afraid there are places 
that will require our united efforts to pass 'em.' 

" Well, I felt kinder sorry for the delay too, for I know'd we 
should make a poor journey on't, on account of that lawyer 
critter's gig, that hadn't no more busness on that rough track 
than a steam-engine had. But I see'd the Judge wanted me 
to stay company, and help him along, and so I did. He was 
fond of a joke, was the old Judge, and sais he : 

*' ' I'm afraid we shall illustrate that passage o' Scriptur', 
Mr. Slick,' said he, " And their judges shall be overthrown in 
stony places." * It's jist a road for it, ain't it V 

" Well we chattered along the road this way a leetle, jist a 
leetle faster than we travelled, for we made a snail's gallop of 
it, that's a fact ; and night overtook us, as I suspected it would, 
at Obi Rafuse's, at the Great Lake ; and as it was the only 
public for fourteen miles, and dark was settin* in, we dis- 
mounted, but oh, what a house it was ! 

" Obi was an emigrant, and those emigrants are ginerally so 
fond of ownin' the soil, that like misers, they carry as much of 
it about 'em on their parsons, in a common way, as the cleverly 
can. Some on 'em are awful dirty folks, that's a fact, and 
Obi was one of them. He kept public, did Obi ; the sign said 
it was a house of entertainment for man and beast. For crit- 
ters that ain't human, I do suppose it spoke the truth, for it 
was enough to make u boss larf, if he could understand it, 
that's a fact; but dirt, wretchedness and rags, don't have that 
effect on me. 

*' The house was built of rough spruce logs, (the only thing 
spruce about it), with the bark on, and the cracks and seams 
was stuffed with moss. The roof was made of coarse slabs^ 
battened and not shingled, and the chimbly peeped out like ^ 
black pot, made of sticks and mud, the way a crow's nest is 

1 n 

II ■ : 

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The winders were half broke out, and stopped up with shingles 
and old clothes, and a great bank of mud and straw all round, 
reached half way up to the roof, to keep the frost out of the 
cellar. It looked like an old hat on a dung heap. I pitied the 
old Judge, because he was a man that took the world as he 
found it, and made no complaints. He know'd if you got the 
best, it was no use complainin' that the best warn't good. 

" Well, the house stood alone in the middle of a clearin*, 
without an outhouse of any sort or kind about it, or any fence 
or enclosure, but jist rose up as a toodstool grows, all alone in 
the field. Close behind it was a thick short second growth of 
young birches, about fifteen feet high, which was the only 
shelter it had, and that was on the wrong side, for it was 
towards the south. 

" Well, when we alighted, and got the ba^age off, away 
starts the guide with the Judge's traps, and ups a path through 
the woods to a settler's, and leaves us. Away down by the 
edge of the lake was a little bam, filled up to the roof with grain 
and hay, and there was no standin^ room or shelter in it for the 
bosses. So the lawyer hitches his critter to a tree, and goes 
and fetches up some fodder for him, and leaves him for the 
night, to weather it as he could. As soon as he goes in, I 
takes Old Clay to the barn, for it's a maxim of mine always to 
look out arter number one, opens the door, and pulls out sheaf 
arter sheaf of grain as fast as I could, and throws it out, tV\ I 
got a place big enough for him to crawl in. 

" ' Now,' sais I, 'old boy,* as I shot to the door arter him, 
' if that hole ain't big enough for you, eat away tiU it is, that's 

*' I had hardly got to the house atore the rain, that had 
threatened all day, came down like smoke, and the wind got 
up, and it blew like a young hurricane, and the lake roared 
dismal ; it was an awful night, and it was hard to say which 
was wus, the storm or the shelter. 

" ' Of two evils,' sais I to the lawyer, ' choose the least. It 
ain't a bad thing to be well housed in a night like this, is it ?' 

" The critter groaned, for both cases was so bad he didn't 
know which to take up to defend, so he grinned horrid and 
said nothin' ; and it was enough to make him grin too, that's a 
fact. He looked as if he had got hold on a bill o' pains and 
penalties instead of a bill of costs that time, you may depend. 

" Inside of the house was three rooms, the keepin' room> 



where we was all half circled round the fire, and two sleepin' 
rooms off of it. One of these Ohi had, who was a-hed, groanin', 
coughin', and turnin' over and over aU the time on the creakin' 
betstead with pleurisy ; t'other was for the judge. The loft 
was for the old woman, his mother, and the hearth, or any 
other soft place we could find, was allocated for lawyer and me. 

" What a scarecrow lookin' critter old aunty was, warn't 
she ? She was all in rags and tatters, and though she lived 
'longside of the lake the best part of her emigrant life, had 
never used water since she was christened. Her eyes were so 
sunk in her head, they looked like two burnt holes in a blanket. 
Her hair was pushed back, and tied so tight with an eel-skin 
behind her head, it seemed to take the hide with it. I 'most 
wonder how she ever shot to her eyes to go to sleep. She had 
no stockins on her legs, and no heels to her shoes, so she 
couldn't lift her feet up, for fear of droppin' off her slippers ; 
but she just shoved and slid about as if she was on ice. She 
had a small pipe in her mouth, with about an inch of a stem, 
to keep her nose warm, and her skin was so yaller and 
wrinkled, and hard and oily, she looked jist like a dried smoked 
red herrin', she did upon my soul. 

" The floor of the room was blacker nor ink, because that is 
pale sometimes ; and the utenshils, oh, if the fire didn't purify 
'em now and ag'in, all the scrubbin' in the world wouldn't, 
they was past that. Whenever the door was opened, in run 
the pigs, and the old woman hobbled round arter them, bangin' 
them with a fryin' pan, till she seemed out o' breath. Every 
time she took less and less notice of 'em, for she was 'most 
beat out herself, and was busy a gettin' of the tea-kettle to 
bile, and it appeared to me she was a-goin' to give in and let 
'em sleep with me and the lawyer, near the fire. 

"So I jist puts the tongs in the sparklin' coals and heats 
the eends on 'em red hot, and the next time they comes in, I 
watches a chance, outs with the tongs, and seizes the old sow 
by the tail, and holds on till I singes it beautiful. The \va,y 
she let go ain't no matter, but if she didn't yell it's a pity, 
that's all. She made right straight for the door, dashed in 
atween old aunty's legs, and carries her out on her back, ridin' 
straddle-legs like a man, and tumbles her head over heels in 
the duck pond of dirty water outside, and then lays down 
along side of her, to put the fire out in its tail and cool itself. 

" Aunty took up the screamin' then, where the pig left off; 




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but her voice warn't so good, poor thing ! she was too old for 
that, it sounded like a cracked bell ; it was loud enough, but 
it warn't jist so clear. She came in drippin* and cryin' and 
scoldin' ; she hated water, and what was wus, this water made 
her dirtier. It ran oif of her like a gutter. The way she let out 
agin pigs, travellers and houses of entertainment, was a caution 
to sinners. She vowed she'd stop public next morning*, and bile 
her kettle with the sign ; folks might entertain themselves 
and be hanged to 'em, for all her, that they might. Then she 
mounted a ladder and goes up into the loft to change. 

" ' Judge,' sais I, * I am sorry, too, I singed that pig*s tail 
arter that fashion, for the smell of poik chops makes me feel 
kinder hungry, and if we had 'em, no soul could eat 'em here 
in such a stye as this. But, dear me,' sais I, ' you'd better 
move, Sir; that old woman is juicy, and I see it a comin' 
through the cracks of the floor above, like a streak of molasses. 

" • Mr. Slick,' sais he, ' this is dreadful. I never saw any- 
thing so bad before in all this country ; but what can't be 
cured must be endured, I do suppose. We must only be 
good-natured and do the best we can, that's all. An emi- 
grant house is no place to stop at, is it ? There is a tin case,' 
sais he, ' containin' a cold tongue and some biscuits, in my 
portmanter ; please to get them out. You must act as butler 
to-night, if you please; for I can't eat anything that old 
woman touches.* 

" So I spreads one of his napkins on the table, and gets out 
the eatables, and then he produced a pocket pistol, for he was 
a sensible man was the judge, and we made a small check, for 
there warn't enough for a feed. 

*' Arter that, he takes out a night-cap, and fits it on tight, and 
then puts on his cloak, and wraps the hood of it close over 
his head, and foldin' himself up in it, he went and laid down 
without ondressin'. The lawyer took a stretch for it on the 
bench, with his gig cushions for a pillar, and I makes up the 
fire, sits down on the chair, puts my legs up on the jamb, 
draws my hat over my eyes, and folds my arms for sleep. 

•* * But fust and foremost,' sais I, ' aunty, take a drop of the 
strong waters : arter goin' the whole hog that way, you must 
need some,' and I poured her out a stiff corker into one of her 
mugS; put some sugar and hot water to it, and she tossed it 
off as if she railly did like it. 

" ' Darn that pig,' said she, ' it is so poor, its back is as 



sharp as a knife. It hurt me properly, that's a fact, and has 
most broke my crupper bone.* And she put her hand behind 
her, and moaned piteous. 

" • Pig skin,' sais I, * aunty, is well enough when made 
into a saddle, but it ain't over pleasant to ride on bare back 
that way,' sais I, 'is it ? And them bristles ain't quite so 
scft as feathers, I do suppose.' 

" I thought I should a died a holdin' in of a haw haw that 
way. Stifling a larf a'most stifles oneself, that's a fact. I 
felt gorry for her, too, but sorrow won't always keep you from 
larfin,' unless you be sorry for yourself. So as I didn't want 
to offend her, I ups legs agin to the jam, and shot my eyes 
and tried to go to sleep. 

" Well, I can snooze through most any thin', but I couldn't 
get much sleep that night. The pigs kept close to the door, 
a shovin' agin it every now and then, to see all was right for 
a dash in, if the bears came ; and the geese kept sentry too 
agin the foxes; and one old feller would squake out 'all's 
well' every five minuts, as he marched up and down and 
back agin on the bankin' of the house. 

" But the turkeys was the wust. They was perched upon 
the lee side of the roof, and sometimes an eddy of wind would 
take a feller right slap off his legs, and send him floppin' and 
roUin' and sprawlin' and screamin' down to the ground, and 
then he'd make most as much fuss a-gettin' up into line agin. 
They are very fond of straight lines is turkeys. I never see 
an old gobbler with his gorget, that I don't think of a kernel 
of a marchin' regiment, and if you'll listen to him and watch 
him, he'll strut jist like one and say, ' hplt 1 dress !' oh, he is 
a military man is a turkey cock : he wears long spurs, ca/ries 
a stiff neck, and charges at red cloth, like a trooper. 

•' Well then a little coward! , good-natured cur, that I-;dged 
in an empty flour barrel, near the wood pile, gave out a long 
doleful howl, now and agin, to show these outside passengers, 
if he couldn't fight for 'em, he could at all events cry for 'em, 
and it ain't every goose has a mourner to her funeral, that's 
a feet, unless it be the owner. 

" In the mornin' I wakes up, and looks round for lawyer, 
but he was gone. So I gathers up the brans, and makes up 
the fire, and walks out. The pigs didn't try to come in agin, 
you may depend, when they see'd me ; they didn't like the 
curlin' tongs, as much as some folks do, and pigs' tails kinder 



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THE attache; 

curl naterally. But there was lawyer a-standin' up by the 
grove» lookin' as peeked and as forlorn as an onmated loon. 

" • What's the matter of you. Squire ?' sais I. • You look 
like a man that was ready to make a speech ; but your witness 
hadn't come, or you hadn't got no jury,' 

" ' Somebody has stole my horse,' said he, 

'• Well, I know'd he was near-sighted, was lawyer, and 
couldn't see a pint clear of his nose, unless it was a pint o' 
law. So I looks all round, and there was his boss, a-standin' 
on the bridge, with his long tail hanging down straight at one 
eend, and his long neck and head a hanging down straight at 
t'other eend, so that you couldn't tell one from t'other, or 
which eend was towards you. It was a clear cold momin'. 
The storm was over and the wind down, and there was a frost 
on the ground. Ttie critter was cold I suppose, and had 
broke the rope air' walked off to stretch his legs. It was a 
monstrous menxi ai^hi to be out in, that's sartain. 

** * There h your ioss,' sais I. 

"* Where i" ^a?: !ie. 

" * Why csj. the ^rivige,' sais I ; "he has got his head down 
and is a-lookin' rc^\ ;5V"i his fore-legs to see where his t^il is, for 
he is so cold, I do .^ appose he can't feel it/ 

" Well, as soon as we could, we started; but afore we left, 
sais the judge to me, ' Mr. Slick,' sais he, * here is a plaister,' 
taking out a pound note, ' a plaister for the skin the pig rubbed 
off of the old woman. Give it to her, I hope it is big enough 
to cover it.' And he fell back on the bed, and larfed and 
coughed, and coughed and larfed, till the tears ran down his 

" Yes," said Mr. Slick, '*yes. Squire, this is a pretty cottage 
of Marm Hodgins ; but we have cottages quite as pretty as 
this, our side of the water, arter all. They are not all like Obi 
Rafuses, the immigrant. T'ae natives have different guess 
places, where you might eat off the floor a'most, all's so clean. 
P'rajjs we hante the hedges, and flowers, and vines and fixin's, 
and what-nots." 

** Which, alone," I said, '* make a most iiaportant difference. 
No, Mr. Slick, there is nothing to be ccixijiared to tlm little 

•* I perfectly agree with you, Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, 
"it is quite unique. There is not only nothing equal to it, 
but nothing of its kind at all like — an English cottage. 




"stealing the heabts of the people." 

Shortly after our return to the inn, a carriage drove up to 
the door, and the cards of Mr. Merton, and the Reverend Mr. 
Homily, which were presented by the servant, were soon fol- 
lowed by the gentlemen themselves. 

Mr. Merlon said he had been informed by Mrs. Hodgins of 
our visit to her cottage, Eind from her account of our conversa- 
tion and persons, he was convinced we could be no other than 
the party described in the " Sajdngs and Doings of Mr. 
Samuel SUck," as about to visit England with the Attach^. 
He expressed great pleasure in having the opportunity of 
making our acquaintance, and entreated us to spend a few days 
with him at the Priory. This invitation we were unfortunately 
compelled to decline, in consequence of urgent business in 
London, where our immediate presence was indispensable. 

The rector then pressed Mr. Hopewell to preach for him, 
on the following day at the parish church, which he also de- 
clined. He said, that he had no serm^ :s with him, and that 
he had very great objections to extemporaneous preaching, 
which he thought should never be resorted to except in cases 
of absolute necessity. He, however, at last consented to do 
so, on condition that Mrs. Hodgins and her husband attended, 
and upon being asssured that it was their invariable custom 
to be present, he said, he thought it not impossible, that he 
might make an impression upon him, and as it was bis maxim 
never to omit an opportunity of doing good, he would with 
the blessing of God, make the attempt. 

The next day was remarkably fine, and as the scene was 
new to me, and most probably will be so to most of my 
colonial readers, I shall endeavour to describe it with some 

We walked to the church by a path over the hills, and heard 
the bells of a number of little churches, summoning the sur- 
rounding population to the House of God. The roads and 
the paths were crowded with the peasantry and their children. 





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approaching the churchyard in different directions. The 
church and the rectory were contiguous to each other, and 
situated in a deep dell. 

The former was a long and rather low structure, originally 
built of light coloured stone, which had grown grey with time. 
It had a large square steeple, with pointed comers, like turrets, 
each of which was furnished with a vane, but some of these 
ornaments were loose and turned round in a circle, while 
others stood still and appeared to be examining with true rustic 
curiosity, the condition of their neighbours. 

The old rectory stood close to the church and was very 
irregularly built, one part looking as if had stepped forward to 
take a peep at us, and another as if endeavouring to conceal 
itself from view, behind a screen of ivy. The windows which 
were constructed of diamond-shaped glass, were almost square, 
and opened on hinges. Nearly half of the- house was covered 
by a rose-tree, from which the lattices peeped very inquisitively 
upon the assembled congregation. Altogether it looked like 
the residence of a vigilant man, who could both see and be 
unseen if he pleased. 

Near the door of the church were groups of men in their 
clean smock-frocks and straw hats, and of women in their tidy 
dark dresses and white aprons. The children all looked clean, 
healthy, and cheerful. 

I'he interior of the church was so unlike that of an American 
one, that my attention was irresistibly drawn to its peculiarities. 
It was low, and divided in the centre by an arch. The floor 
was of stone, and from long and constant use, very uneven in 
places. The pews were much higher on the sides than ours, 
and were unpainteci and roughly put together ; while the pulpit 
was a rude square box, and was placed in the comer. Near the 
door stood an ancient stone font, of rough workmanship, and 
much worn. 

The windows were long and narrow, and placed very high in 
the walls . On jhe one over the altar was a very old painting, 
on stained glass, of the Virgin, with a hoop and yellow petti- 
coat, crimson vest, a fly cap, and very thick shoes. The light 
of this window was still further subdued by a fine old yew- 
tree, which stood in the yard close behind it. 

There was another window of beautiful stained glass, the 
light of which fell on a large monument, many feet square, of 
white marble. In the centre of this ancient and beautiful work 



of art, were two principal figures, with smaller ones kneeling 
on each side, having the hands raised in the attitude of prayer. 
They were intended to represent some of the ancestors of the 
Merton family. The date was as old as 1575. On various 
parts of the wall were other and ruder monuments of slate- 
stoue, the inscriptions and dates of which were nearly effaced 
hy time. 

The roof was of a construction now never seen in America ; 
and the old oak rafters, which were more numerous than was 
requisite, either for strength or ornament, were massive and 
curiously put together, giving this part of the building a heavy 
and gloomy appearance. 

As we entered the church, Mr. Hopewell said he had selected 
a text suitable to the times, and that he would endeavour to 
save the poor people in the neighbourhood from the delusions of 
the chartist demagogues, who, it appeared, were endeavouring 
to undermine the throne and the altar, and bring universal ruin 
upon the country. 

, When he ascended the pulpit to preach, his figure, his great 
age, and his sensible and benevolent countenance, attracted 
universal attention. I had never seen him officiate till this 
day ; but if I was struck with his venerable appearance before, 
I was now lost in admiration of his rich and deep-toned voice, 
his peculiar manner, and simple style of eloquence. 

He took for his text these words : " So Absolam stole the 
hearts of the men of Israel." He depicted, in a very strikmg 
manner, the arts of this intriguing and ungrateful man to 
ingratiate himself with the people, and render the government 
unpopular. He traced his whole course, from his standing at 
the crowded thoroughfare, and lamenting that the king had 
deputed no one to hear and decide upon controversies of the 
people, to his untimely end, and the destruction of his ignorant 
followers. He made a powerful appUcation of the seditious 
words of Absalom : ' Oh that / were a judge in the land, 
that every man which hath a suit or cause might come unto 
me, and / would do him justice.' He showed the effect of 
these empty and wicked promises upon his followers, who in 
the holy record of this unnatural rebellion as " men who went 
out in their simplicity, and knew not anything." 

He then said that similar arts were used in all ages for 
similar purposes ; and that these professions of disinterested 
patriotism were the common pretences by which wicked men 


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availed themselves of the animal force of those " who assemble 
in their simplicity, and know not anything." to achieve their 
own personal aggrandisement, and warned them to give no 
heed no such dishonest people. He then drew a picture of the 
real blessings they enjoyed in this happy country, which, 
though not without an admixture of evil, were as many and as 
great as the imperfect and unequal condition of man was 
capable either of imparting or receiving. 

Among the first of these, he placed the provision made by 
the state for the instruction of the poor, by means of an estab- 
lished Church. He said they would doubtless hear this wise 
and pious deed of their forefathers attacked also by unprin- 
cipled men ; and falsehood and ridicule would be invoked to 
aid in the assault ; but that he was a witness on its behalf, 
from the distant wilderness of North America, where the voice 
of gratitude was raised to England, whose missionaries had 
planted a church there similar to their own, and had proclaimed 
the glad tidings of salvation to those who would otherwise 
have still continued to live without its pale. 

He then pourtrayed in a rapid and most masterly manner 
the sin and the disastrous consequences of rebellion ; pointed 
out the necessity that existed for vigilance, and defined their- 
respective duties to Ood, and to those who, by his permission, 
were set in authority over them ; and concluded with the usual 
benediction, which, though I had heard it on similar occasions all 
my life, seemed now more efficaciou':, more paternal, and more 
touching than ever, when uttered by him, in his peculiarly 
patriarchal manner. 

The abstract I have just given, I regret to say, cannot con- 
"oy any adequate idea of this powerful, excellent, and appro- 
. "f sermon. It was listened to with intense interest by the 
Ration, many of whom were affected to tears. In the 
.oon we attended church again, when we heard a good, 
pAa:.n, and practical discourse from the rector ; but, unfortu- 
nately, he had neither the talent, nor the natural eloquence of 
ou: friend, and, although it satisfied the judgment, it did not 
affect the heart like that of the " Old Minister." 

At the door we met, on our return, Mrs. Hodgins. " Ah ! 
my dear," said Mr. Hopewell, "how do you do ? I am going 
to your cottage ; but I am an old man now ; take my arm — it 
will support me in my walk." 

It was thus that this good man, while honouring this poor 




woman, avoided the appearance of condescension, and received 
her arm as a favour to himself. 

She commenced tlianking him for his sermon in the morn- 
ing. She said it had convinced her William of the sin of the 
Chartist agitation* and that he had firmly resolved never to 
meet them again. It had saved him from ruin, and made her 
a happy woman. 

'* Olad to hear it has done him good, my dear," said he ; 
" it does me good, too, to hear its effect. Now, never remind 
him of past errors, never allude to them : make his home cheer- 
ful, make it the pleasantest place he can find any where, and 
he wont want to seek amusement elsewhere, or excitement 
either ; for these seditious meetings intoxicate by their excite- 
ment. Oh ! I am very glad I have touched him ; that I have 
prevented these seditious men irom ' stealing his heart.' " 

In this way they chatted, until they arrived at the cottage, 
which Hodgins had just reached by a shorter, but more rugged 

" It is such a lovely afternoon," said Mr. Hopewell, " I 
believe I will rest in this arbour here awhile, and enjoy the 
fresh breeze, and the perfume of your honeysuckles and 

"Wouldn't a pipe be better, Minister," said Mr, F'ick. 
" For my part, I don't think anything equal to the flavour of 
rael good genewine first chop tobacco.'* 

"Well, it is a great refreshment, is tobacco," said Mr. Hope- 
well. "I don't care if I do take a pipe. Bring me one, 
Mr. Hodgins, and one for yourself also, and I will smoke and 
talk with you awhile, for they seem as natural to each other as 
eating and drinking do." 

As soon as these were produced, Mr. Slick and I retired, 
and requested Mrs. Hodgins to leave the Minister and her 
husband together for awhile, for as Mr. Slick observed, " The 
old man will talk it into him like a book ;" for " if he was 
possessed of the spirit of a devil, instead of a Chartist, he is 
jist the boy to drive it out of him. Let him be awhile, and 
he'll tame old uncle there, like a cossit sheep ; jist see if he 
don't, that's all." 

We then walked up and down tlie shady lane, smoking our 
cigars, and Mr. Slick observed, ** Well, there is a nation sight 
of difference, too, ain't there, atween this country church, and 
a country meetin'-house our side of the water ; I won't say in 





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WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 

(716) 872-4503 



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^u:it THE ATTACH^ J .^ .^'' 



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your country or my country ; but I say our side of the water 
— and then it won*t rile nobody ; for your folks will say I 
mean the States, and our citizens will say I mean the colonies ; 
but you and I know who the cap fits, one or t'other, or both, 
don't we ? 

" Now here, this old-fashioned church, ain*t quite up to the 
notch, and is a leetle behind the enlightment of the age like, 
with its queer old fixin's and what not; but still it looks 
solemcoly' don't it, and the dim light seems as if we wam*t 
expected to be lookin* about, and as if outer world was shot 
out, from sight and thort, and it wam't man's house nother. 

" I don't know whether it was that dear old mw's preachin', 
and he is a brick, ain^t he ? or, whether it's the place, or the 
place and him together ; but somehow, cr somehow else, I feel 
more serious to-day than common, that's a fact. The people 
too are so plain dressed, so decent* so, deyout and no show, it 
looks like aimest. M.>i^i^.<f:i^¥Mimimri^'-:i^^\ ...or. 

/ "The only fashionable people here was the Squire's sar- 
irants ; and tiiey did look genteel, and no mistake. Elegant 
men, and most splendid lookin' women they was too. I 
thought it was some noble, or airVs, or big bug's femily ; but 
Mrs. Hodgins says they are the people of the Squire's about 
here, the butlers and ladies' maids ; and superfine uppercrust 
lookin* folks they be too. 

"Then everybody walks here, even Squire Merton and his 
splendiriferous galls walked like the poorest of the poor ; there 
was no carriage to the door, nor no hosses hitched to the gate, 
or tied to the back of waggons, or people gossipin' outside ; 
but all come in and minded their business, as if 'it was worth 
attendin* to ; and then arter church was finished oflf, I liked 
the way the big folks talked to the little folks, and inquired 
arter their families. It may be actin*, but if it is, it's plaguy 
good actin', I tell you. 

'* I'm a thinkin' it tante a rael gentleman that's proud, but 
only a hop. You've seen a hop grow, hante you ? It shoots 
up in a night, the matter of several inches right out of the 
ground, as stiff as a poker, straight up and down, with a spick 
and span new green coat and a red nose, as pruud as Lucifer. 
Well, I call all upstarts ' hops,' and I bdieve it's only ' hops* 
arter all thafs scomy. j^; ; <v*t ; ■, 

** Yes, I kinder like an English country church, only it's a 
leetle, jist a leetle too old-fashioned for me. Folks lc>ok a leetle 

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too much like grandfieither Slick, and the boys uaedto laugh at 
him, and call lam a benighted Britisher. PcrJiaps that's the 
cause of my prejudice, and yet X must say, British or no Bri- 
tish, it tante bad, is it ? 

" The meetin' houses ' our side of tiie water/ no matter 
where, but away up in the back country, how teetotally dif- 
ferent they be ! beant they ? A great big, handsome wooden 
house, chock full of winders, painted so white as to put your 
eyes out, and so full of light within, that inside seems all out- 
doors, and no tree nor budi, nor nothing near it but the road 
fence, with a man to preach in it, that is so strict and straight- 
laced, that he will do amftkmg of a week day, and nothin* of 
a Sunday. Congregations are ri^ed out in their spic and 
span bran new clothes, silks, satins, ribbins, leghorns, palmet- 
ters, kiss-me-quicks, and all sorts of rigs, and the men in their 
bng-tail-blues, pig-ddn pads, calf-sldn boots, and sheep-skin 
saddle-cloths. Here they publish a book of foshions, there 
they publish *em in meetin' ; and instead of a pictur, have the 
rae| naked truth. 

'< Preacher there don't preach morals, because that's churchy, 
and he don't like neither the church nor its morals ; but he 
preaches doctrine, which doctrine is, there's no Christians but 
themselves. Well, the fences outside of the meetin' house, 
for a quarter of a mile or so, each side of the house, and each 
side of the road, ain't to be seen for bosses and waggons, and 
gigs hitched there ; jpoor devils of bosses that have ploughed, 
or hauled, or harrowed, or logged, or snaked, or somethm' or 
another dl the week, and rest of a Sunday by alterin' their gait, 
as a man rests on a journey by a alterin' of his stirrup, a hole 
higher or a hole lower. Women that has all their finery on 
can't walk, and some things is ondecent. It's as ondecent for 
a woman to be seen walkin' to meetin', as it is to be caught 
at — what shall I say? — why caught at attendin' to her busi- 
ness at home. 

*' The women are the fust and the last to meetin' ; fine 
clothes cost suntfain', and if they ain't showed, what's the use 
of them ? The men folk remind me of the bosses to Sable 
Island. It's a long low sand-bank on Nova Scotia coast, 
thirty miles long and better is Sable Island, and not much 
higher than the water. It has awful breakers round it, and 
picks up a shockin' sight of vessels does that island. Govern- 
ment keeps a super-intender there and twelve men to save 


^f I 



THE attache; i.^ .^^ 

wracked people, and there is a herd of three hundred wild 
bosses kept there for food for saved crews that land there; 
when provision is short, or for super-intender to catch and break 
for use, as the case may be. .4vir'»«K,Miff <ur9«>«» 

" Well, if he wants a new boss, he mounts his folks on his 
tame bosses, and makes a dash into the herd, and runs a wild 
feller down, lugs him off to the stable-yard, and breaks him 
in, in no time. A smart little boss he is too, but he alwa3r8 
has ah eye to naiur' arterwards ; the change is too euddettt and 
he'll off, if he gets a chance. ^ ^ >?l.> 

"Now that's the case with these country congregations, we 
know where. The women and old tame men folk are inside ; 
the young wild boys and ontamed men folk are on the fences, 
outside a settin' on the top rail, a speculatin' on times or mu» 
riages, or markets, or what not, or a walkin' round and 
studyin' boss flesh, or a talkin' of a swap to be completed of 
a Monday, or a leadin' off of two bosses on the sly of the old 
deacon's, taldn' a lick of a half mile on a bye road, right slap 
a-head and swearin' the bosses had got loose, and they was just 
a fetchin' of them back. .a:; j , '. .;..? vj {i;ii- . 

" ' Whose side-saddle is tlu»K///.v -'^wf tf^. -*#*;:•:'>> '0«/i;i-stbficrj 

*' ' Slim Sail Dowdie's.' ■» m- -*-(«,.-» .•'t/v;iF,i..-«,Wf ,*.;»t;»irirj 'i| ^it 

"'Shift it on to the deacon's beast, and put his on to 
her'n and tie the two critters together by the tail. This is 
old Mother Pitcher's waggon ; her boss kicks like a gtaM- 
hopper. Lengthen the breechin', and when aunty starts, he^ll 
make all fly agin into shavin's, like a plane. Who is that .a 
comio' along ^ill split there a horseback r' >- . fA 1^)^)?/ 

" ' It's old Booby's son, Tom. Well, it's the old man*8 
shaft boss ; call out whoh ! and he'll stop short, and j^tob 
Tom right over his head on the broad of his back, whtip. '1 <<>n' 

"'Tim Fish, and Ned Pike, come scale up here with us 
boys on the fence.' The weight is too great ; awtty goies the 
fence, and away goes the boys, all flyin* ; legs, arms,/ hats, 
poles, stakes, withes, and all, with an ^wfiil crash and an 
awful shout; and away goes two or three bosses that have 
broke their bridles, and off home like wink. i c<^it;«}o^ 

" Out comes Elder Sourcrout. ' Them as won't oom4 'in 
had better stay to home,' sais he. And when he hears iMt 
them as are in had better stay in when they be there, he jMses 
the hint and goes back agin. ' Come, boys, let's go to Bllkok 
Stump Swamp and sarch for honey. We shall be b^olc in 




time to walk home with the galls from night meetin', hy airly 
candle-lisht. Let's go.' 

" Well, they want to recruit the stock of tame ones inside 
meetin*, they sarcumvent some o' these wild ones outside ; 
make a dash on 'em, catch 'em, dip 'em, and give 'em a name ; 
for all sects don't always baptise 'em as we do, when children, 
biit let 'em grow up wild in the herd till they are wanted. 
They have hajrd work to break 'em in, for they are smart ones, 
that's a fact, but, like the bosses of Sable Island, they have 
always an «ye to natur* arterwards ; the change is too sudden, 
you can't trust 'em, at least I never see one as / could, that's all. 

" Well, when they come out o' meetin', look at the dignity 
and sanctity, and pride o' humility o' the tame old ones. Read 
their faces. ' How does the print go V Why this way, ' I 
am a sinner, at least I was once, but thank fortin' I ain't like 
you, you onconverted, benighted, good-for-nothin' critter you.' 
Read the ontamed one's face, what's the print there ? Why 
it's this. As soon as he sees over-righteous stalk by arter 
thfit fashion, it says. ' How good we are, ain't we ? Who wet 
hi^ hay to the lake tother day, on his way to market, and 
made two tons weigh two tons and a half ? You'd better look 
as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, hadn't you, old 
Sugar-cane ?' 

" Now jist foller them two rulin' elders, Sourcrout and Colds- 
laugh ; they are pluguy jealous of their neighbour, elder Josh 
Chisel, that exhorted to-day. ' How did you like Brother 
Josh to-day ?' says Sourcrout, a utterin' of it through his nose. 
Oood men always speak through the nose. It's what comes 
out o* the mouth that defiles a man ; but there is no mistake 
in the nose ; it's the porch of the temple that. ' How did you 
like Brother Josh ?' 

" • Well, he wasn't very peeowerful ?' 

" * Was he ever peeowerful ? 

*• • Well, when a boy, they say he was considerable sum as 
a wrastler.* 

" Sourcrout won't larf, because it's agin rules ; but he gig 
goggles like a turkey-cock, and says he, ' If s for ever and 
ever the same thing with Brother Josh. He is like an over- 
shot mill, one everlastin' wishy-washy stream.' 

" • When the water ain't quite enough to turn the wheel, 
and only spatters, spatters, spatters," says Coldslaugh. 

"Sourcrout gig goggles agin, as if he was swallerin' 

G 2 





shelled corn whole. * That trick of wettin' the bay/ says he, 
' to make it weigh heavy, wam't clererly done ; it ain*t pretty 
to be caught ; it^s only bunglers do that/ 

"'He 18 80 fond of temperance/ says Coldslaugh, 'he 
wanted to make his hay jine society, and drink cold water, too/ 

" Sourcrout gig goggles ag'in, tiU he takes a fit of the asmy, 
sets down on a stump> claps both hands on his sides, and 
coughs, and coughs tiU he finds cou^ing no joke no more. 
Oh dear, dear convarted men, though they won't larf them- 
selves, make others larf the worst kind, sometimes; don't 
they? .,rT--> ''.^ 

" I do believe, on my soul, if religion was altogetiier left to 
the voluntary in this world, it would die a natersd death ; not 
that men wouldn*t support it, but because it would be supported 
under false pretences. Truth can't be long upheld by false- 
hood, Hypocrisy would change its features, and intolerance 
its name; and religi<Hi would soon degenerate into a cold, 
intriguing, onprincipled, marciless superstition, that's a fact. 

" Yes, on the whole, I rather like these plain, decent, c:ipre- 
tendin', country churches here, although t'other mies remind 
me of old tidies, when I was an ontamed one too. Yes, I like 
an English church ; but as for Minister pretendin' for to come 
for to go folr to preach agin that beautiful long-haired young 
rebel. Squirt Absalom, for * stealin' the hearts of the people,' 
why it's rather takin' the rag off the bush, ain't it ? 

"Tell you what. Squire; there ain't a man in their whole 
church here, from Lord Canter Berry that preaches afore the 
Queen, to Parson Homily that preached afore us, nor never 
was, nor never will be equal to Old Minister hisself for 
* stealin' the hearts of the people.' 




In the course of our journey, the conversation turned upon 
the several series of the " Clockmaker" I had published, and 
their relative merits. Mr. Slick appeared to think they all 
owed their popularity mainly to the freshness and originality 
of character incidental to a new country. . , "' 


ii 11 



■'. 1 -T'. 


" Vou are in the wrong pew here, Squu«/* said he ; '* you 
are, upon my soul. If you think to sketch the English in a 
way any one will stop to look at, you have missed a figur\ 
that's edl. You can't do it nohow you can't fix it. There is 
no contrasts here, no variation of colours, no light and shade, 
no nothin'. What sort of a pictur' would straight lines of 
anything make ? Take a parcel of sodjers, officers and all, 
and stretjch 'em out in a row, and paint 'em, and then engrave 
'em, and put it into one of our annuals, and see how folks 
would larf^ and ask, * What boardin'-school gall did that ? 
Who pulled her up out of standin' com, and sot her up on 
eend for an artist ? they'd say. 

"There is nothin' here to take hold on. It's so plaguy 
smooth and high polished, the hands slip off; you can't get a 
grip of it. Now, take Lord First Chop, who is the most 
fashionable man in London, dress him in the last cut coat, 
best trowsersj French boots, Paris gloves, and grave-vine-root 
oane, don't forget his whiskers, or mous-stache, or breast-pins, 
or gold chains, or anything; and what have you got? — a 
tailor's print-card, and nothin* else. 

** Take, a lady, and dress her in a'most a beautiful long 
habit, man's hat, stand-up collar and stock, clap a beautiful 
little cow-hide whip in her hand, and mount her on a'most a 
splendiferous white boss, with long tail and flowin' mane, a 
rairin' and a cavortin' like mad, and a champin' and a chawin' 
of its bit, and makin' the froth fly from its mouth, a spatterin* 
and white-spottin' of her beautiful trailin', skirt hke anything. 
And what have you got? — why a print like the posted hand- 
bills of a circus. 

" Now spit on your fingers, and rub Lord First Chop out of 
the slate, and draw an Irish labourer, with his coat off, in his 
shirt-sleeves, with his breeches loose and ontied at the knees, 
his yam stockings and thick shoes on ; a little dudeen in his 
mouth, as black as ink and as short as nothin' : his hat 
with devilish little rim and no crown to it, and a hod on his 
shoulders, filled with bricks, and him lookin' as if he was a 
singin' away as merry as a cricket : 

* When I was young and unmtrried, my shoes they were new, 
But now I am old and am married, the water runs troo ;' 

Do that, and you have got sunthin' worth lookin' at, quite 


\ \ 


'- THE attache; 

pictures-quee, as Sister Sail used to say. And because why ? 
You have got sunthin' nateral, 

" Well, take the angylyferous dear a horseback, and rub her 
out (well, I won't say that nother, for I'm fond of the little 
critturs, dressed or not dressed for company, or any way they 
like), yes, I like woman-natur', I tell you. But turn over the 
slate, and draw on t'other side on*t an old woman, with a red 
cloak, and a striped petticoat, and a poor pinched-up. old, 
squashed-in bonnet on, bendin' forrard, with a staff in her 
hand, a leadin' of a donkey that has a pair of yallow willow 
saddle-bags on, with coloured vegetables and flowers, and red 
beet-tops, a goin* to market. And what have you got ? Why 
a pictur* worth lookin' at, too. Why ? — because its natur^ 

" Now, look here. Squire ; let Copley, if he was alive, but 
he ain't : and it's a pity too, for it would have kinder happ^ed 
the old man, to see his son in the House of Lords, wouldn't it ? 
Squire Copley, you know was a Boston man ; and a credit to 
our great nation too. P'raps Europe never has never dittoed 
him since. , ' ■ »^:^--- i'H:-;;-*ii'jVr:^^-^->-',*«'«'.;^iii^;^^ > 

" Well, if he was above ground now, alive, and stirrin', 
why take him and fetch him to an upper crust London party ; 
and sais you, 'Old Tenor,' sais you, 'paint all them silver 
plates, and silver dishes, and silver coverlids, and what nots ; 
and then paint them lords with their starsy and them ladies' 
(Lord if he would paint them with their garters, folks 
would buy the pictur, cause that's nateral) ' them ladies with 
their jewels, and their sarvants with their liveries, fnA hurge 
as life, and twice as nateral.' "- y ^ i j^^- ; vi ^^ * 

" Well, he'd paint it, if you paid him for it, that's a fiact; 
for there is no better bait to fish for us Yankees arter all, than 
a dollar. That old boy never turned up his nose at a dollar, 
except when he thought he ought to get two. And if he 
painted it, it wouldn't be bad, I tell you. ^ '* 

" * Now,' sais you, • you have done high life, do low Kfe" for 
me, and I will pay you well, I'll come down hansun, and do 
the thing genteel, you may depend. Then,' sais you, ' put in 
for a back ground that noble, old Noah-like lookin' wood, that's 
as dark as comiago. Have you done ?' sais you. ; " f'-- 

" • I guess so,' sais he. . i 

•* 'Then put in a brook jist in front of it, runnin' over 
stones, and foamin' and ^ bubblin' up like anything.' 

•• ' It s in,' sais he. " " ^ -"^ ' ^ ^" 







'Then jab two forked sticks in the ground ten feet apart' 
this side of the brook/ sais you, ' and clap a pole across atween 
the forks. Is that down?' sais you. ,. 
„j ** * Yes,* sais he. j, . ,^- , f . k.* , .. 

y *' ' Then/ sais you, ' hang a pot on that horizontal pole, 
make a clear little wood fire ondemeath ; paint two covered 
cturts near it. Let an old boss drink at the stream, and two 
donkeys moke a feed off a jMitch of tlustles. Have you stuck 
thatin?*,i. , ' ^-^»^ 


'Stop a Int,* says he, 'paintin' an't quite as fest done 
as writm*. Have a little grain of patience, will you? It's, 
tall paintin*, makin* the brush walk at that price. Now 
there you are' sais he. * What's next ? But, mind I've most 
filled my canvass ; it will cost you a pretty considerable penny, 
if you want all them critters in, when I come to cypher all the 
pictur up, and sumtotalize the whole of it.' 

" ' Oh ! cuss the cost !' sais you. ' Do you jist obey orders, 
lUd break owners, that's all you have to do. Old Loyalist.' 
! " * Very well,' sais he, ' here goes.' 

** *Well, then,* sais you, 'paint a party of gipsies there *, 
mind their different coloured clothes, and different attitudes, 
and different occupations. Here a man mendin* a harness, 
there a woman pickin* a stolen fowl, here a man skinnin* a 
rabbit, there a woman with her petticoat up, a puttin* of a 
patch in it. Here two boys a fishin*, and there a littie gall a 
jdayin' with a dog, that's a racin' and a yelpin', and a borkin' 
like mad.' 

" ' Well, when he's done,' sais you, * which pictur do you 
reckon is the best now. Squire Copley ? speak candid for I want 
to know, and I ask you now as a countryman,* 
; *' 'Well' he'll jist up and tell you, 'A;/, Foker,* sais he, 
' your fashionable party is the devil, that's a fiut. Man made 
the town, but Ood made the country. Your company is as 
formal, and as stiff, and as oninterestin' as a row of poplars ; 
but your gipsy scene is beautiful, because it's nateral. It was 
me painted old Chatham's death in the House of Lords ; folks 
praised it a good deal ; but it was no great shakes, there was no 
naiur' in it. The scene was rael, the likenesses was good, 
and there was spirit in it, but their damned uniform toggery, 
spiled the whole thing — it was artificial, and wanted li^ and 
natur. Now, suppose such a thing in Congress, or suppose 
some fellow skiver'd the speaker with a bowie knife as hap- 

* t 



pened to Arkaiuaw, if I was to paint it, it would be beautiful. 
Our free and enlightened people is so different, so character- 
istic and peculiar, it would give a great field to a painter. To 
sketch the different style of man of each state, so that any 
citizen would sing right out ; Heavens and earth if that don't 
beat all ! Why, as I am a livin* sinner that's the Hoosier of 
Indiana, or the Sucker of Illinois, or the Puke of Missouri, or 
the Bucky of Ohio, or the Red Horse of Kentucky, or the 
Mudhead of Tennesee, or the Wolverine of Michigan or the 
Eel of New England, or the Com Cracker of Virginia ! That's 
the thing that gives inspiration. That's the glass of talabogus 
that raises your spirits. There is much of elegance, and more 
of comfort in England. It is a great and a good country, 
Mr. Poker, but there is no natur in it.' 

" It is as true as gospel," said Mr. Slick, " I'm tellin' you 
no lie. It's a fact. If you expect to paint them English, as 
you have the Blue-Noses and us, you'll pull your line up 
without a fish, oftener than you are a-thinkm' on ; that's the 
reason all our folks have foiled. ' Rush's book is jist molasses 
and water, not quite so sweet as 'lasses, and not quite so good 
as water; but a spilin' of both. And why? His pictur was 
of polished life, where there is no natur. Washington Irving's 
book is like a Dutch paintin', it is good, because it is faithful i 
the mop has the right number of yams, and each yam has the 
right number of twists (altho* he mistook the mop of the 
grandfather, for the mop of the man of the present day), and 
the pewter plates are on the kitchen dresser, and the other 
little notions are all there. He has done the most that could 
be done for them, but the painter dasarves more praise than the 

' " Why is it every man's sketches of America takes ? Do 
you suppose it is the sketches ? No. Do you reckon it is 
the interest we create ? No. Is it our grand experiment ? 
No. They don't care a brass button for us, or our country^ 
or experiments nother. What is it then ? It is because they 
are sketches of natur. Natur in every grade and every variety 
of form ; from the silver plate, and silver fork, to the finger 
and huntin' knife. Our artificial Britishers laugh at ; they are 
bad copies, that's a fact ; I give them up. Let them laugh, 
and be darned ; but I stick to my natur, and I stump them to 
produce the like. .' / 

" Oh, Squire, if you ever sketch me, for goodness gracious 



sake, don't sketch me as an Attach^ to our embassy, with the 
Legation button on the coat, and black Jube Japan in livery. 
Don't do that ; but paint me in my old waggon to Nover 
Scotier, with Old Clay before me, you by my side, a segar in 
my mouth, and natur all round me. And if that is too artifi- 
cial ; oh, paint me in the back woods, with my huntin' coat 
on, my leggins, my cap, my belt, and my powder-horn. Paint 
me with my talkin' iron in my hand, wipin' her, chargin' her. 
selectin' the bullet, placin' it in the greased wad, and rammin' 
it down. Then draw a splendid oak openin' so as to give a 
good view, paint a squirrel on the tip top of the highest branch 
of the loftiest tree, place me off at a hundred yards, drawin' a 
bead on him fine, then show the smoke, and young squire 
squirrel comin' tumblin' down head over heels lumpus', to see 
whether the ground was as hard as dead squirrels said it was. 
Paint me nateral, I besech you ; for I tell you now, as I told 
you before, and ever shall say, there is nothin' worth bavin' or 
knowin', or hearin', or readin', or seein', or tastin', or smellin, 
or feelin', and above all and more than all, nothin' worth affec- 
tionin' but Natur. 



As soon as I found my friend Mr. Hopewell comfortably 
settled in his lodgings, I went to the office of the Belgian 
Consul and other persons to obtain the necessary passports for 
visiting Germany, where I had a son at school. Mr. Slick 
proceeded at the same time to the residence of his Es^cellency 
Abednego Layman, who had been sent to this country by the 
United States on a special mission,' relative to the Tariiff. 

On my return from the city in the afternoon, he told me he 
had presented his credentials to *' the Socdolager," and was 
most graciously and cordially received ; but still I could not 
fail to observe that there was an evident air of disappointment 
about him. 

" Pray, what is the meaning of the Socdolager," I asked. 
" I never heard of the term before." 

" Possible !" said he, " never heerd tell of ' the Socdolager,' 
why you don't say so I The Socdolager is the President of the 

i> 'I 

\ 1 


^«v t> THB ATTACH^; 

:t.r ■ 

lakes — ^he is the whale of the intaroal seas — the Indgians wor- 
shipped him once on a time as the king of fishes. He lives in 
great state in the deep waters, does the old boy, and he don't 
often show himself. I never see'd him myseUT, nor any one 
that ever had sot eyes on him ; but the old Indgians have see'd 
him and know him well. He won't take no bait, will the 
Socdolager ; he can't be caught, no how you can fix it, he is 
so 'tamal knowin', and he can't be speared nother, for the 
moment he sees aim taken, he ryles the water and is out of 
sight in no time. He can take in whole shoals of others hisself, 
tho' at a mouthful. He's a whapper, that's a fact. I call our 
Minister here ' the Socdolager,' for our diplomaters were never 
known to be hooked once yet, and actUly beat all natur' for 
knowin' the soundin's, smelUn' the bait, givin' the dodge* or 
rylin' the water; so no soul can see thro' it but diem- 
selves. Yes, he is * a Socdolager/ or a wlude among cftplo- 
maters. v ^>*'Xtv .';*•;;•_•. ■■!'•/ '.."^-xf 

■ " Well, I rigs up this morning, full fig, calls a cab, and pro- 
ceeds in state to -our embassy, gives what Cooper calls a lord's 
beat of six thund'rin' raps of the knocker, presents the legation 
ticket, and was admitted to where ambassador was. He is a 
very pretty man all up his shirt, and he talks pretty, and smiles 
pretty, and bows pretty, and he has got the whitest hand you 
ever see, it looks as white as a new bread and milk poultice. 
It does indeed. 

" ' Sam Slick,' sais he, ' as I'm alive. Well, how do you 
do, Mr. Slick ? I am 'nation glad to see you, I affection you 
as a member of our legation. I feel kinder proud to have the 
first literary man of our great nation as my Attach^. 

" ' Your knowledge of human natur, sais he, (' added to 
your'n of soft sawder.' sais I,) ' will raise our great nation, I 
guess, in the scale o' European estimation.' ;, ',,^x;^ 

"He is as sensitive as a skinned eel, is Layman, and he 
winced at that poke at his soft sawder like anything, and 
puckered a little about the mouth, but he didn't say nothin', 
he only bowed. He was a Unitarian preacher once, was Abed- 
nego. but he swapt preachin' for politics, and a good trade he 
made of it too ; that's a fact. 

" ' A great change.' sais I. * Abednego, since you was a 
preachin' to Connecticut, and I was a vendin' of clocks to Nova 
Scotia, ain't it? Who'd a thought then, you'd a been " a Soc- 
dolager," and me your "pilot fish," eh!' 




" It was a raw spot, that, and I always touched him on it 
for fun. 

" ' Sam/ said he, and his face fell like an empty puss, when 
it gets a few cents put into each eend on it, the weight makes 
it grow twice as long in a minute. ' Sam,' said he, ' don't 
call me that are, except when we are alone here, that's a good 
soul ; not that I am proud, for I am a true Republican ;' and 
he put his hand on his heart, bowed and smiled hansum, ' but 
these people will make a nickname of it, and we shall never 
hear the last of it, that's a fact. We must respect ourselves, 
afore others will respect us. You onderstand, don't you V 

•* ' Oh, don't I,' sais I, ' that's all ? It's only here I talks 
this way, because we are at home now ; but I can't help a 
thinkin' how strange things do turn up sometimes. Do you 
recollect, when I heard you a-preachin' about Hope a-pitchin' 
of her tent on a hill ? By gosh, it struck me then, you'd pitch 
your tent high some day ; you did it beautiful.' 
\ " He know'd I didn't like this change, that Mr. Hopewell 
liad kinder inoculated me with other guess views on these 
matters, so he began to throw up bankments and to picket in 
the ground, all round for defence like. 

" ' Hope,' sais he, * is the attribute of a Christian, Slick, for 
he hopes beyond this world ; but I changed on principle.' ^^ 
" ' Well,' sais I, ' I changed on interest ; now if our great 
nation is backed by principal and interest here, I guess its 
credit is kinder well built. And atween you and me, Abed- 
nego, that's more than the soft-homed British will ever see 
from all our States. Some on 'em are intarmined to pay 
neither debt nor interest, and give nothin' but lip in retam.'* 

*' ' Now,' sais he, a pretendin' to take no notice of this, 
' you know we have the Voluntary with us, Mr. Slick.' He 
said ' Mister' that time, for he began to get formal on puppus 
to stop jokes ; but, dear me, where all men are equal what's 
the use of one man tryin' to look big? He must take to 
growin' agin I guess to do that. ' You know we have the 
Voluntary with us, Mr. Slick,' sais he. 
" * Jist 80,' sais I. 

•• • Well, whttf 8 the meanin' of that ?' 
" * Why,* sais I, * that you support religion or let it alone, 
as you like ; that you can take it up as a pedlar does his 
pack, carry it till you are tired, then lay it down, set on it, 
and let it support you.* 

y I 




" ' Exactly,* sais he ; 'it is voluntary on the hearer, and it's 
jist so with the minister, too ; for his preachin' is voluntary 
also. He can preach or let it alone, as he likes. It's volun- 
tary all through. It's a bad rule that won't work both ways.' 
'* * Well,' says I, ' there is a good deal in that, too.' I said 
that jist to lead him on. 

"'A good deal!' sais he, 'why it's everything. But I 
didn't rest on that alone ; I propounded this maxim to myself. 
£very man, sais I, is bound to sarve his fellow citizens to his 
utmost. That's true ; ain't it, Mr. Slick ?' 
" ' Guess so,* sais I. 

" * Well then, I asked myself this here question : Can I 
sarve my fellow citizens best by bein' minister to Peach settle- 
ment, *tendin* on a little village of two thousand souls, and 
preachin' my throat sore, or bein' special minister to Saint 
Jimses, and sarvin* our great Republic and its thirteen mil- 
lions ? Why, no reasonable man can doubt ; so I give up 

" * Well,* sais I, ' Abednego, you are a Socdolager, that's 
a fact ; you are a great man, and a great scholard. Now a 
great scholard, when he can't do a sum the way it's stated, 
jist states it so — he can do it. Now the right way to state 
that sum is arter this fashion : " Which is best, to endeavour 
to save the souls of two thousand people under my spiritual 
charge, or let them go to Old Nick and save a piece of wild 
land in Maine, get pay for an old steamer burnt to Canada, 
and uphold the Blave trade for the interest of the States." 

*' ' That's specious, but not true,' said he ; * but it's a 
matter rather for my consideration than your'n,* and he looked 
as a feller does when he buttons his trowsers' pocket, as much 
as to say, you have no right to be a puttin* of your pickers 
and stealers in there, that's mine. * We will do better to be 
less selfish,' said he, ' and talk of our great nation.' 

'* ' Well,' says I, ' how do we stand here in Europe ? Do 
we maintain the high pitch we had, or do we sing a note lower 
than we did V 

" WeU, he wulked up and down the room, with his hands 
onder his coat-tails, for ever so long, without a sayin' of a 
word. At last, sais he, with a beautiful smile that was jist 
skin deep, for it played on his face as a cat's-paw does on the 
calm waters, 'What was you a sayin* of, Mr. Slick?' sais 



*• • What's our position to Europe ?* sals I, * jist now ; is it 
letter A, No. 1 V 

" ' Oh !' sais he, and he walked up and down agin, cypherin' 
like to himself ; and then says he, ' I'll tell you ; that word 
Socdolager, and the trade of preachin', and clockmakin', it 
would be as well to sink here ; neither on 'em convene with 
dignity. Don't you think so ;* 

" * Sartainly,' sais I ; * it's only fit for talk over a cigar, 
alone. It don't always answer a good purpose to blart every- 
thing out. But our position,' sais I, * among the nations of 
the airth, is it what our everlastin' Union is entitled to ?' 

" ' Because,' sais he, * some day when I am asked out to 
dinner, some wag or another of a lord will call me parson, and 
ask me to crave a blessin', jist to raise the larf agin me for 
havin' been a preacher.* 

" ' If he does,' sais I, 'jist say. my Attach^ does that, and m 
jist up first and give it to him atween the two eyes ; and when 
that's done, sais you, my Lord, that's your grace afore meat ; 
pr'aps your Idrdship will return thanks arter dinner. Let him 
try it, that's all. But our great nation,' sais I, * tell me, 
hante that noble stand we made on the right of sarch, raised 
us about the toploftiest ?' 

" ' Oh,' says he, ' right of sarch I right of sarch ! I've 
been trjrin' to sarch my memoryi but can't find it. I don't 
recollect that sarmont about Hope pitohin' her tent on the 
hUl." When was it ?" 

'"It was afore the juvenile-united-democratic-republican 
association to Funnel HaU,' sais I. 

" ' Oh,' says he, ' that was an oration-'-it was an oration 

" * Oh !' sais I, ' we won't say no more about that ; I only 
meant it as a joke, and nothin' more. But railly now, Abed- 
nego, what is the state of our legation V 

" ' I don't see nothin' ridtkilous,' sais he, * in that are ex- 
pression, of Hope pitchin* her tent on a hill. It's figurativ' 
and poetic, but it's within the line that divides taste from 
bombast. Hope pitchin* her tent on a hill I What is there to 
reprehend in that ?' 

" ' Good airth and seas,' sais I, • let's pitch Hope, and her 
tent, and the hill, all to Old Nick in a heap together, and talk 
of somethin' else. You needn't be so perkily ashamed of 
havin' preached, man. Cromwell was a great preacher all his 

I I 


■ n 




life, but it didn't spile him as a Socdolager one bit, but rather 
helped him, that's a fact. How 'av we held our footin' here ?' 

" * Not well, I am grieved to say,* sais he ; ' not well. The 
failure of the United States* Bank, the repudiation of debts 
by several of our States, the foolish opposition we^made to the 
suppression of the slave-trade, and above all, the bad faith in 
the business of the boundary question has lowered us down, 
down, e'en a'most to the bottom of the shaft.* 

"'Abednego,' sais I, 'we want sunthin* besides boastin* 
and talkin* big ; we want a dash — a great stroke of policy. 
Washington hangin' Andr6 that time, gained more than a 
battle. Jackson by hangin* Arbuthnot and Anbristher, gained 
his election. M'Kennie for bavin* hanged them three citizens 
will be made an admiral of yet, see if he don't. Now, if 
Captain Tyler had said, in his message to Congress, ' Any 
State that repudiates its foreign debts, we will first fine it in 
the whole amount, and then cut it off from our great, free, 
enlightened, moral and intellectual republic*, he would have 
gained by the dash his next election, and run up our flag to 
the mast-head in Europe. He would have been popular to 
home, and respected abroad, that*s as clear as mud.* 

" ' He would have done right. Sir, if he had done that,* 
said Abednego, ' and the right thing is always approved of in 
the eend, and always esteemed all through the piece. A 
dash, as a stroke of policy,' said he, ' has sometimes a good 
effect. General Jackson threatening France with a war, if 
they didn't pay the indemnity, when he knew the King would 
make 'em pay it whether or no, was a masterpiece; and 
General Cass tellin* France if she signed the right of sarch 
treaty, we would fight both her and England together single- 
handed, was the best move on the political chess-board, this 
century. All these, Sir, are very well in their way, to produce 
an effect; but there's a better policy nor all that, a far better 
policy, and one, too, that some of our States and legislators, 
and presidents, and Socdolagers, as you call 'em, in my mind 
have got to larn yet, Sam.' 

" * What's that ?' sais I. ' For I don't believe 'n my soul 
there is nothin' a'most our diplomaters don't kn /. They 
are a body o' men that does honour to our great nation. What 
policy are you a indicatin' of?* 

" ' Why,' sais he, ' that honesty is the best policy.* 

" When I heerd him say that, I springs right up on e end 





like a rope dancer. ' GKve me your hand, Abednego/ sais I ; 
' you are a man, every inch of you/ and I squeezed it so hard, 
it made his eyes water. ' I always knowed you had an excel- 
lent head-piece,' sais I, ' and now I see the heart is in the 
right place too. If you have thrown preachin' overboard, you 
have kept your morals for ballast, any how. I feel kinder 
proud of you ; you are jist a fit representative for our great 
nation. You are a Socdolager, that's a fieict. I approbate 
your notion ; it's as correct as a bootjack. For nations or 
individuals, it's all the same, honesty is the best policy, and 
no mistake. That,' sais I, ' is the hill, Abednego, for Hope 
to pitch her tent on, and no mistake,' and I put my finger to 
my nose, and winked. 

" 'Well,' sais he, *it is ; but you are a droll feller, Slick, 
there is no standin' your jokes. I'll give you leave to larf if 
you like, but you must give me leave to win if I can. GK)od 
bye. But mind, Sam, our dignity is at stake. Let's have no 
More of Socdolagers, or Preachin', or Clockmakin', or Hope 
pitchin' her tent. A word to the wise. Good bye.' 

"Yes," said Mr. Slick, "I rather like Abednego's talk 
myself. I kinder think that it will be respectable to be 
Attach^ to such a man as that. But he is goin' out of town 
for some time, is the Socdolager. There is an agricultural 
dinner, where he has to make a conciliation speech ; and a 
scientific association, where there is a piece of delicate brag 
and a bit of soft sawder to do, and then there are visits to the 
nobility, peep at manufactures, and all that sort of work, so 
he won't be in town for a good spell, and until then, I can't 
go to Court, for he is to introduce me himself. Pity that, 
but then it'll give me lots o' time to study human natur', that 
is, if there is any of it left here, for I have some doubts about 
that. Yes, he is an able lead horse, is Abednego ; he is a'most 
a grand preacher, a good poet, a first chop orator, a great 
diplomater, and a top sawyer of a man, in short — he is a 

! ! 


^- ii 


■?;.* >i»Wk,fc.„ 




THE attache; 


! ii 

•! i- 

:^ • ■ ;!' <;!'►'■*>' 


' i 

DINING OUT. cf; ..fi 


Mt visit to Geimany was protracted beyond the period I 
had originally designed ; and, during my absence, Mr. Slick 
had been constantly in company, either " dining out" daily, 
when in town, or visiting from one house to another in the 
country. -.'^■)^-,.M■-^^'^t^'' wfi!?"?-* -U-: ' -^'xyh 'Ax'-h 

I found him in great spirits. He assured me he had many 
capital stories to tell me, and that he rather guessed he knew 
as much of the English, and a leetle, jist a leetle* grain piore, 
p'raps, than they knew of the Yankees. ^ ^ . ;• ^„h 

" They are considerable large print are the Bull family,'* 
said he ; " you can read them by moonlight. Indeed, their 
faces ain't onlike the moon in a gineral way ; only one has got 
a man in it, and the other hain't always. It tante a bright 
face ; you can look into it without winkin'. It's a cloudy one 
here too, especially in November ; and most all the time makes 
you rather sad and solemncoly. Yes, John is a moony man, 
that's a fact, and at the full a little queer sometimes. 

** England is a stupid country compared to our'n. There is 
no variety where there is no natur. You have class variety here, 
but no individiality. They are insipid, and call it perlite. The 
men dress alike, talk alike, and look as much alike as Provi- 
dence will let 'em. The club-houses and the tailors have done 
a good deal towards this, and so has whiggism and dissent ; 
for they have destroyed distinctions. 

" But this is too deep for me. Ask Minister, he will tell 
you the cause ; I only tell you the fact. 

" Dinin' out here, is both heavy work, and light feedin'. 
It's monstrous stupid. One dinner like one rainy day (it's 
rained ever since I been here a'most), is like another ; one 
drawin'-room like another drawin'-room ; one peer's enter- 
tainment in a general way, is like another peer's. The same 
powdered, liveried, lazy, idle, good-for-nothin', do-little, stand- 
in-the-way-of-each-other, useless sarvants. Same picturs, same 
plate, same fixin's, same don't-know-what-to-do-with-your- 
self-kinder-o'-lookin'-master. Great folks are like great folks, 
merchants like marchants, and so on. It's a pictur, it looks 

^ vr7r','''~'r' j'jw^''*rf¥^-'JV'*'^- 




like life, but it tante. The animal is tamed here ; he is fatter 
than the wild one, but he hante the spirit. 

" You've seen Old Clay in a pastur, a racin' about, free from 
harness, head and tail up, snortin*. cavortin', attitudinisin' of 
himself. Mane flowin' in the wind, eye-ball startin' out, nos- 
trils inside out a' most, ears pricked up. A nateral hoss; put 
him in a wagson, with a rael spic and span harness, all 
covered over yritli brass buckles and brass knobs, and ribbons 
in his bridle, rael jam. Curb him up, talk Yankee to him, 
and get his ginger up. Well, he looks well ; but he is * a 
broke ho88,' He reminds you of Sam Slick ; cause when you 
see a hoss, you think of his master ; but he don't remind 
you of the rael * Otd Clay,* that's a fact. 

" Take a day here, now in town ; and they are so identical 
the same, that one day sartificates for another. You can't 
get out a bed afore twelve, in winter, the days is so short, 
and the fires ain't made, or the room dusted, or the breakfast 
can't be got, or sunthin' or another. And if you did, what's 
the use ? There is no one to talk tq^ and books only weaken 
your understandin*, as water does' brandy. They make you 
let others guess for you, instead of guessin' for yourself. Sar- 
vants spile your habits here, and books spile your mind. I 
wouldn't swap ideas with any man. I make my own opinions, 
as I used to do my own clocks ; and I find they are truer than 
other men's. The Turks are so cussed heavy, they have people 
to dance for *em ; the English are wus, for they hire people to 
think for 'em. Never read a book. Squire, always think for 

" Well, arter breakfast, it's on hat and coat, ombrella in 
hand (don't never forget that, for the rumatiz, like the perlice, 
is always on the look out here, to grab hold of a feller), and 
go somewhere where there is somebody, or another, and^moke, 
and then wash it down with a sherry-cobbler ; (the drinks ain't 
good here ; Ihey hante no variety in them nother : no white- 
nose, apple-jack, stone-wall, chain-lightning, rail-road, hail- 
storm ginsling-talabogus, switchel flip, gum-ticklers, phlem- 
cutters, juleps, skate-iron, cast-steel, cock-tail, or nothin', but 
that heavy stupid black fat porter ;) then down to the coflee- 
house, see what vessels have arrived, how markets is, whether 
there is a chance of doin' any thin' in cotton and tobacco, 
whose broke to home, and so on. Then go to the park, and 
see what's a goin on there ; whether those pretty critturs, the 






rads, are a holdin' a prime minister ' parsonally res(X)nsible/ 
by shootin' at him ; or whether there is a levee, or the Queen 
is ridin' out, or what not ; take a look at the world, make a 
visit or two to kill time, when all at once it's dark. Home 
then, smoke a cigar, dress for dinner, and arrive at a quarter 
past seven. ■.,. 'i-^v-v;. . '"j ./-v.. - ;■.' > Mii'^^jM^-ijo'-: 

" Folks are up to the notch here when dinner is in question, 
that's a fact, fat, gouty, broken-winded, and foundered as they 
be. It's rap, rap, rap, for twenty minutes at the door, and in 
they come, one arter the other, as fast as the sarvants can 
carry up their names. Cuss them sarvants ! it takes sev^n or 
eight of 'em to carry a man's name up stairs, they are so awful 
lazy, and so shockin' full of porter. If a feller was so lame 
he had to be carried up himself, I don't believe on my soul, 
the whole gang of them, from the Butler that dresses in the 
s>ame clothes as his master, to Boots that ain't dressed at all, 
could make out to bowse him up stairs, upon my soul I don't. 

*' Well, you go in .along with your name, walk up to old 
aunty, and make a scrape, and the same to old uncle, and then 
fall back. This is done as solemn, as if a feller's name was 
called out to take his place at a funeral ; that and the mistakes 
is the fun of it. There is a sarvant at a house I visit at, that 
I suspicion is a bit of a a bam, and the critter shows both his 
wit and sense. He never does it to a * somebody,' 'cause that 
would cost him his place, but when a ' nobody' has a droll 
name, he jist gives an accent, or a sly twist to it, that folks 
can't help a larfin', no more than Mr. Nobody can feelin' like 
a fool. He's a droll boy, that ; I should like to know him. 

*' Well, arter 'nouncin' is done, then comes two questions — 
tjo I know any body here ? and if I do, does he look like talk 
or not ? Well, seein' that you have no handle to your name, 
and a stranger, it's most likely you can't answer these ques- 
tions right ; so you stand and use your eyes, and put your 
tongue up in its case till it's wanted. Company are all come, 
and now they have to be marshalled two and two, lock and 
lock, and go into the dinin'-room to feed. 

<« When I first came I was nation proud of that title, " the 
Attache ;' now I am happified it's nothin' but ' only an At- 
tache.' and rU tell you why. The great guns, and big bugs, 
have to take in each other's ladies, so these old ones have to 
herd together. Well, the nobodies go together too, and sit 
too-ether, and I've observed these nobodies aie the pleasantest 




m At- 

ive to 
nd sit 

people at table, and they have the pleasantest places, because 
tliey sit down with each other, and are jist like yourself, 
plaguy glad to get some one to talk to. Someliody can only 
visit somebody, but nobody can go anywhere, and therefore 
nobody sees and knows twice as much as somebody does. 
Somebodies must be axed, if they are as stupid as a pump ; 
but nobodies needn't, and never are, unless they are spicy sort 4 
o' folks, so you are sure of them, and they have all the fun 
and wit of the table at their eend, and no mistake. 

" I wouldn't take a title if they would give it to me, for if 
I had one, 1 should have a fat old parblind dowager detailed 
on to me to take in to dinner ; and what the plague is her 
jewels and laces, and silks and sattins, and wigs to me ? As 
it is, r have a chance to have a gall to take in that's a jewel 
herself— one that don't want no settin* off, and carries her 
diamonds in her eyes, and so on. I've told our minister not 
to introduce me as an Attach^ no more, but as Mr. Nobody, 
^om the State of Nothin', in America, thaVs natur agin. 
1 •' But to get back to the dinner. Arter you are in marchin' 
order, you move in through two rows of sarvants in uniform. 
I used to think they was placed there for show, but it's to 
keep the air off of folks a goin' through the entry, and it 
ain't a bad thought, nother. 

" Lord, the first time I went to one o' these grand let ofFs I 
felt kinder skeery, and as nobody was allocated to me to take 
in, I goes in alone, not knowin' where I was to settle down as 
a squatter, and kinder lagged behind ; when the butler comes 
and rams a napkin in my hand, and gives me a shove, and sEiis he, 
* Go and stand behind your master, Sir,' sais he. Oh, Solomon ! 
how that waked me up. How [ curled inwardly when he did 
that. ' You've mistaken the child,' sais I mildly, and I held 
out the napkin, and jist as he went to take it, I gave him a 
sly poke in the bread basket, that made him bend forward and 
say ' eugh.' 'Wake Snakes, and walk your chalks,' sais I, 
' will you ?' and down I pops on the fusty empty chair. Lord, 
how white he looked about the gills arterwards ; I thought I 
should a split when I looked at him. Guess he'll know an 
Attache when he sees him next time. 

" Well, there is dinner. One sarvice of plate is like another 
sarvice of plate, any one dozen of sarvants are Uke another 
dozen of sarvants, hock is hock, and champaigne is clmm- 
paigne — and one dinner is like another dinner. The only 

H 2 


THE attache; 

difference is in the thing itself that's cooked. Veal, to be 
good, must look like anything else but veal; you mustn't 
know it when you see it, or it's vulgar; mutton must be 
incog, too ; beef must have a mask on ; anythin' that looks 
solid, take a spoon to ; anythin' that looks light, cut with a 
knife ; if a thing looks like fish, you may take your oath it is 
flesh; and if it seems rael flesh, it's only disguised, for it's 
sure to be fish ; nothin' must be nateral, natur is out of fashion 
here. This is a manufacturin' country, everything is done by 
machinery, and that that ain't must be made to look like }t ; 
and I must say, the dinner machinery is parfect. ""' '* ''■'" 

•* Sarvants keep goin' round and round in a ring, slow, but 
sartin, and for ever, like the arms of a great big windmill, 
shovin' dish after dish, in dum show, afore your nose, for you 
to see how you like the flavour ; when your glass is empty it's 
filled ; when your eyes is off your plate, it's off too, afore you 
can say Nick Biddle. 

" Folks speak low here ; steam is valuable, and noise onpo- 

lite. They call it a ' subdued tone.' Poor tame things, they 
are subdued, that's a fact ; slaves to an arbitrary tyrannical 
fashion that don't leave 'em no free will at all. You don't 
often speak across a table any more nor you do across a street, 
but p'raps Mr. Somebody of West Eend of town, will say to 
a Mr. Nobody from West Eend of America : ' Niagara is 
noble.' Mr. Nobody will say, ' Guess it is, it got its patent 
afore the " Norman Conquesty" 1 reckon, and afore the "sub- 
dued tone" come in fashion.* Then Mr. Somebody will look 
like an oracle, and say, ' Great rivers and great trees in 
America. You speak good English.* And then he will seem 
surprised, but not say it, only you can read the words on his 
face, ' Upon my soul, you are a'most as white as us.' 

•' Dinner is over. It's time for ladies to cut stick. Aunt 
Goosey looks at the next oldest goosey, and ducks her head, 
as if she was a goin* through a gate, and then they all come to 
their feet, and the goslins come to their feet, and they all 
toddle off to the drawin* room together. 

" The decanters now take the ' grand tour' of the table, 
and, like most travellers, go out with full pockets, and return 
with empty ones. Talk has a pstir of stays here, and is laced 
up tight and stiff. Lamin' is pedantic ; politics is onsafe ; 
religion ain't fashionable. You must tread on neutral ground. 
Well, neutral ground gets so trampled down by both sides. 





and so plundered by all. there ain't anything fresh or good 
grows on it, and it has no cover for game nother. 

" ' Housundever, the ground is tried, it's well beat, but 
nothin' is put up, and you get back to where you started. 
Uncle Gander looks at next oldest gander hard, bobs his head, 
and lifts one leg already for a go, and says, ' Will you take 
any more wine ?' ' No,' sais he, ' but I take the hint, let's 
jine the ladies.' 

" Well, when the whole flock is gathered in the goose pastur, 
the drawin'-room, other little flocks come troopin' in, and stand,, 
or walk, or down on chairs ; and them that know each other 
talk, and them that don't twirl their thumbs over their fingers; 
and when they are tired of that, twirl their fingers over their 
thumbs. I'm nobody, and so I goes and sets side-ways on 
an ottarman, like a gall on a side-saddle, and look at what's 
afore me. And fust I always look at the galls. 

•* Now, this I will say, they are amazin' fine critters are the 
women kind here, when they are taken proper care of. The 
English may stump the univarse a' most for trainin' bosses and 
galls. They give 'em both plenty o^ walkin' exercise, feed 'em 
regular, shoe 'em well, trim 'em neat, and keep a beautiful 
skin on 'em. They keep 'em in good health, and don't house 
'em too much. They are clippers, that's a fact. There is few 
things in natur, equal to a boss and a gall, that's well trained 
and in good condition. I could stand aJl day and look at 'em, 
and I call myself a considerable of a judge. It's singular 
how much they are alike too, the moment the trainin* is over 
or neglected, neither of 'em is fit to be seen ; they grow 
out of shape, and look coarse. 

" They are considerable knowin* in this kind o' ware too, 
are the English ; they vamp 'em up so well, it's hard to tell 
their age, and I ain't sure they don't make 'em live longer, 
than where the art ain't so well practised. The mark o' mouth 
is kept up in a boss here by the file, and a hay-cutter saves 
his teeth, and helps his digestion. Well, a dentist does tlie 
same good turn for a woman ; it makes her pass for several 
years younger, and helps her looks, mends her voice, and 
makes her as smart as a three year old. 

" What's that? It's music. Well, that's artificial too, it's 
scientific they say, it's done by rule. Jist look at that gall to 
the piany ; first comes a little Garman thunder. Good airth 
and seas, what a crash! it seems as if he she'd bang the 



i-^ lit 

.i»\; .ii.,iiiiiS 



instrument all to a thousand pieces. I guess she's vexed at 
somebody and is a peggin' it into the piany out of spite. 
Now comes the singin' : see what faces she makes, how she 
stretches her mouth open, like a barn door, and turns up the 
white of her eyes, like a duck in thunder. She is in a musical 
ecstacy is that gall, she feels good all over, her soul is a goin' 
out along with that ere music. Oh it's divine, and she is an 
angel, ain't she? Yes, I guess she is, and when I'm an 
angel. I will fall in love with her ; but as I'm a man, at least 
what's left of me, I'd jist as soon fall in love with one that 
was a leetle, jist a leetle more of a woman, and a leetle, 
jist a leetle less of an angel. But hullo! what onder 
the sun is she about, why her voice is goin' down her 
own throat, to gain strength, and here it comes out agin as 
deep toned as a man's ; while that dandy feller along side of 
her, is singin' what they call falsetter. They've actilly changed 
voices. The gall sings like a man, and that screamer like a 
woman. This is science : this is taste : this is fashion ; but 
hang me if it's natur. I'm tired to death of it, but one good 
thing is, you needn't listen without you like, for every body is 
talking as loud as ever. 

" Lord, how extremes meet sometimes, as Minister says. 
Herey now, fashion is the top of the pot, and that pot hangs on 
the highest hook on the crane. In America, natur can't go no 
farther ; it's the raal thing. Look at the women kind, now. 
An Indgian gall, down South, goes most naked. Well, a 
splendiferous company gall, here, when she is full dresssed is 
only half covered, and neither of 'em attract you one mite or 
morsel. We dine at two and sup at seven ; here they lunch at 
two, and dine at seven. The words are different, but they 
are identical the same. Well, the singin' is amazin* like, too. 
Who ever heerd them Italian singers recitin* their jabber, 
showin' their teeth, and cuttin' didoes at a great private con- 
sart. that wouldn't take his oath he had heerd niggers at a 
dignity ball, down South, sing jist the same, and jist as well. 
And then do, for goodness' gracious' sake, hear that great 
absent man, belongin' to the House o* Commons, when the 
chaplain says, ' Let us pray V sing right out at once, as if he 
was to home, ' Oh ! by all means,' as much as to say, ' me 
and the powers above are ready to hear you; but don't be 
long about it.' 

" Ain't that for all the world like a camp-meetin', when a 




reformed ring-tail roarer calls out to the minister. * That's a fact. 
Welly Fobus, by Gosh ; amen 1 or when preacher says, ' Who 
will be saved ?' answers, ' Me and the boys, tkrow us a hen- 
coop ; the galls will drift down stream on a bale o' cotton.' 
Well then, our very lowest, and tlteir very highest, don't 
always act pretty, that's a fact. Sometimes ' thay repudiate* 
You take, don't you ? 

" Thtsre is mother party to-night; the flock is a thinnin* 
off agin ; and as I want a cigar most amazin'ly, let's go to a 
divan, and some other time, I'll tell you what a awoiree is. 
But answer me this here question now, Squire: when this 
same thing is acted over and over, day after day, and no varia- 
tion, from July to etarnity, don't you think you'd get a 
leetle — jist a leetle more tired of it every day, and wish for 
natur once more. If you wouldn't I would, that's all." 
5v.:.,,. .■ • ■ ' • -,.•- 
ii; ..! ■ ■ . 


i ', 


** SdUiRK," said Mr. Hopewell, " you know Sam well 
enough, I hope, to make all due allowances for the exuberance 
of his faixsy. The sketch he has just given you of London 
society, like the novels of the present day, though founded on 
fiipt, is very unlike the reality. There may be assemblages of 
persons in this great city, and no doubt there are, quite as 
insipid and absurd as the one he has just pourtrayed ; but you 
must not suppose it is at all a fair specimen of the society of 
this place. My own experience is quite the reverse. I think 
it the most refined, the most agreeable, and the most instruc- 
tive in the world. Whatever your favourite study or pursuit 
may be, here you are sure to find well-informed and enthu- 
siastic associates. If you have merit, it is appreciated ; and 
for an aristocratic country, that merit places you on a level 
with your superiors in rank in a manner that is quite incom- 
prehensible to a republican. Money is the great leveller of 
distinctions with us ; here it is talent. Fashion spreads many 
tables here ; but talent is always found seated at the best, if it 




^ il 




\ r 



thinks proper to comply with certain usa^s, without which 
even genius ceases to be attractive. 

" On some future occasion I will enter more at large on this 
subject ; but now it is too late ; I have already exceeded my 
usual hour for retiring. Excuse me, Sam," paid he, "I know 
you will not be offended with me ; but. Squire, there are some 
subjects on which Sam may amu^e, but cannot instruct you ; 
and one is, fashionuble life in London. You must judge for 
yourself, Sir. Good night, my children." 

Mr. Slick rose, and opened the door for him, and as he 
])as8ed, bowed and held out his hand, " Remember me, your 
honour;" no man opens the door in this country without being 
paid for it, *' Remember me. Sir." 

"True, Sam," said the Minister ; " and it is unlucky that it 
does not extend to opening the mouth ; if it did, you would 
soon make your fortune, for you can't keep voura shut. Good 

The society to which I have subsequently had the good for- 
tune to be admitted, fully justifies the eulogium of Mr. Hope- 
well. Though many persons can write well, few can talk 
well ; but the number of those who excel in conversation is 
much greater in certain circles in London than in any other 
place. By talking well, I do not mean talking wisely or learn- 
edly, but agreeably ; for relaxation and pleasure are the prin- 
cipal objects of social assemblies. This can only be illustrated 
by instancing some very remarkable persons, who are the pride 
and pleasure of every table they honour and delight with their 
presence. But this may not be. For obvious reasons, I could 
not do it if I would ; and most assuredly, I would not do it if 
I could. No more certain mode could be devised of destroy- 
ing conversation, than by showing, that when the citadel is 
unguarded, the approach of a friend is as unsafe as that of an 
enemy. ■■' ■ •«/■';. ' - ■, bj-::- ^■::r:^-i^. xjfis 

Alas ! poor Hook ! *vho can read the unkind notice of thee 
in a late periodical, and not feel that on some occasions you 
must have admitted to your confidence men who were as 
unworthy of that distinction as they were incapable of appre- 
ciating it; and that they who will disregard the privileges of a 
table, will not hesitate to violate even the sanctity of the tomb. 
Cant may talk of your '* intet' pocuia" errors with pious horror ; 
and pretension, now that its indulgence is safe, may affect to 





disclaim your acquaintance ; but kinder, and better, and truer 
men than those who furnished your biographer \s'ith his facts 
will not fail to recollect your talents with pride, and your wit 
and your humour with wonder and delight. 
V We do not require ^uch flagrant examples as these to teach 
us our duty, but they are not without their use in increasing 
our caution. 

When Mr. Hopewell withdrew, Mr. Blick observed : 
" Ain't that ere old man a trump'? He ia always in the 
right place. Whenever you want to find him, jii>t go and look 
for him where he ought to be, and there you will find him as 
sure as there is snakes in Varginy. He is a brick, that's a 
fact. Still, for all that, he ain't jist altogether a citizen of this 
world nother. He fishes in deep water, with a sinker to his 
hook. He can't throw a fly as I can, reel out his line, run 
down stream, and then wind up, wind up, wind up, and let 
out, and wind up again, till he lands his fish, as I do. He 
looks deep into things, is a better religionist, polititioner. and 
bookster than I be : but then that^s all he does know. If you 
want to find your way about, or read a man, come to roe, that's 
all ; for I'm the boy that jist can do it. If I can't walk into a 
man, I can dodge round him ; and if he is too nimble for that, 
1 can jump over him ; and if he is too tall for that, although I 
don't like the play, yet I can whip him. 

" Now, Squire, I have been a good deal to England, and 
crossed this big pond here the matter of seven times, and 
know a good deal about it, more than a great many folks that 
have writtin' books on it, p'raps. Mind what I tell you, the 
English ain't what they was. I'm not speakin' in jeest now, 
or in prejudice. I hante a grain of prejudice in me. I've 
see'd too much of the world for that I reckon. I call myself 
a candid man, and I tell you the English are no more like what 
the English used to be, when pigs were swine, and turkies 
chawed tobacky, than they are like the Picts or Scots, or Nor- 
man, French, or Saxons, or nothin'." 

" Not what they used to be ?" I said. " Pray, what do you 
mean ?'* 

" I mean," said he, "jist what I say. They ain't the same 
people no more. They are as proud, and overbearin', and con- 
caited, and haughty to foreigners as ever ; but, then they ain't 
so manly, open-hearted, and noble as they used to be, oncte 
upon a time. They have the Spy System now in full opera- 




) ! ' 




tion here ; so jist take my advice, and mind your potatoe-trap, 
or you will be in trouble afore you are ten days older, see if 
you ain't." 

" The Spy System T I replied, " Good heavens, Mr. Slick, 
how can you talk such nonsense. &nd yet have the modesty to 
say you have no prejudice ?" 

" Yes, the Spy System,'* said he, " and Til prove it. You 
know Dr. Mc'Dougall to Nova Scotia ; well, he kiiows all 
about mineralogy, and geology, and astrology, and everything 
a'most, except what he ought to know, and that is dollar- 
ology. For he ain't over and above half well off, that's a fact. 
Well, a critter of the name of Oatmeal, down to Pictou, said 
to another Scotchman there one day, *The great nateralist 
Dr. Mc'Dougall is come to town.' 

" 'Who?' says Sawney. • 

" • Dr. Mc'Dougall, the nateralist,* says Oatmeal. 

" • Hout, mon,' says Sawney, ' he is nae nateral, that chiel ; 
he kens mair than maist men ; he is nae that fool you take him 
to be.' 

'• Now, I am not such a fool as you take me to be. Squire. 
Whenever I did a sum to school. Minister used to say, * Prove 
it, Sam, and if it won't prove, do it over agin, till it will ; a 
sum ain't right when it won't prove,' Now, I say the English 
have the Spy System, and I'll prove it ; nay, more than that, 
they have the nastiest, dirtiest, meanest, sneakenest system in 
the world. It is ten times as bad as the French plan. In 
France they have bar-keepers, waiters, chamber galls, guides, 
quotillions, — " 

" Postilions, you mean," I said. 

"Well, postilions then, for the French have queer names for 
people, that's a fact ; disbanded sodgers, and such trash, for 
spies. In England they have airls and countesses. Parliament 
men, and them that call themselves gentlemen and ladies, for 

'* How very absurd !*' I said. 

•*0h yes, very absurd," said Mr. Slick; "whenever I say 
any thin' agin England, it's very absurd, it's all prejudice. 
Nothin' is strange, though, when it is said of us, and the 
absurder it is, the truer it is. I can bam as well as any man 
when bam is the word, but when fact is the play, I am right 
up and down, and true as a trivet. I won't deceive you ; I'll 
prove it. 

» 1 







" There was a Kumel Dun— dun — plague take his name, I 
can't recollect it, but it makes no odds — I know he is Done for, 
though, that's a fact. Well, he was a British kumel, that was 
out to Halifax when I was there. I know'd him by sight, I 
didn't know him by talk, for I didn't fill then the dignified 
situation I now do, of Attachd. I was only a clockmaker then, 
and I suppose he wouldn't have dirtied the tipeend of his white 
glove with me then, any more than I would sile mine with him 
now ; and very expensive and troublesome things them white 
gloves be too ; there is no keepin' of them clean. For my part, 
I don't see why a man can't make his own skin as clean as a 
kid's, any time ; and if a feller can't be let shake hands with a 
gall except he has a glove on, why ain't he made to co\er his 
lips, and kiss thro' kid skin too. 

" But to get back to the kurnel, and it's a pity he hadn't 
had a glove over his mouth, that's a fact. "Well, he went 
home to England with his regiment, and one night when he 
was dinin' among some first chop men, nobles and so on, they 
sOt up considerable late over their cluret ; and poor thin cold 
stuiF it is too, is claret. A man may get drowned in it, but 
how the plague he can get drunk with it is hard to me. It's 
like everytb'ng else French, it has no substance in it ; it's 
nothin' but red ink, that's a fact. Well, how it was I don't 
know, but so it eventuated, that about daylight he was mops 
and brooms, and began to talk somethin' or another he hadn't 
ought to; somethin' he didn't know himself, and somethb' he 
didn't mean, and didn't remember. 

" Faith, next momin' he was booked ; and the first 
thing he see'd when he waked was another man a try in* on 
of his shoes, to see how they'd fit to march to the head of his 
regiment with. Fact, I assure you, and a fact too that shows 
what Englishmen has come to ; I despise 'em, I hate 'em, I 
scorn such critters as I do oncarcumcised niggers." 

" What a strange perversion of facts," I replied. 

But he would admit of no explanation. " Oh yes, quite 
parvarted ; not a word of truth in it ; there never is when Eng- 
land is consarned. There is no beam in an Englishman's eye ; 
no not a smell of one ; he has pulled it out long ago ; that's 
the reason he can see the mote in other folks' s so plain. Oh, 
of course it ain't true ; it's a Yankee invention ; it's a hickory 
ham and a wooden nutmeg. 

*' Well, then, there was another fdler got bagged t'other 

s !' 


THE attache; 



day, as innocent as could be, for givin' his opinion when folks 
was a talkin' about matters and things in gineral, and this here 
one in partikilar. I can't tell the words, for I don't know 
'em, nor care about 'em ; and if I did, I couldn't carry 'em 
about so long ; but it was for sayin' it hadn't ought to have 
been taken notice of, considerin' it jist popt out permiscuous 
like with the bottle-cork. If he hadn't a had the clear grit in 
him, and showed teeth and claws, they'd a nullified him so, 
you wouldn't have see'd a grease spot of him no more. What do 
you call that, now ? Do you call that liberty ? Do you call 
that old English ? Do you call it pretty, say now ? Thank 
God, it tante Yankee." 

" I see you have no prejudice, Mr. Slick" I replied. 

" Not one mite or morsel," he said " Tho' I was born 
in Connecticut, I have travelled all over the thirteen united 
jniversal worlds of ourn and am a citizen at large. No, 
1 have no prejudice. You say I am mistakend ; p'raps 
I am, I hope I be, and a stranger may get hold of the wrong 
eend of a thing, sometimes, that's a fact. But I don't think 
I be wrong, or else the papers don't tell the truth ; and I read 
it in all the jamais ; I did, upon my soul. Why man, it's 
history now, if such nasty mean doins is worth puttin' into a 

" What makes this Spy System to England wuss, is that 
these eaves-droppers are obliged to hear all that's said, or 
lose what commission they hold ; at least so folks tell me. I 
recollect when I was there last, for it's some years since 
Government first sot up the Spy System ; there was a great 
feed given to a Mr. Robe, or Robie, or some such name, an 
out and out Tory. Well, sunthin' or another was said over 
their cups, that might as well have been let alone, I do suppose, 
tho' dear me, what is the use of wine but to onloosen the 
tongue, and what is the use of the tongue, but to talk. Oh, 
cuss 'em, I have no patience with them. Well, there was an 
officer of a marchin' regiment there, who it seems ought to 
have took down the words and sent 'em up to the head Gineral, 
but he was a knowin' coon, was officer, and didn't hear it. 
No sooner said than done ; some one else did the dirty work 
for him ; but you can't have a substitute for this, you must 
sarve in person, so the old Gineral hawls him right up for it. 
lajrue did * ' - ^. . ., « 

Why the pis 


neral, * why didn't you get right up, and break up the party ?' 



" ' I didn't hear it,' sais he. 

'• ' You didn't hear it !' sais Old Swordbelt, ' then you had 
ought to have heerd it ; and for two pins, I'd sharpen your 
hearin' for you, so that a snore of a fly would wake you up, as 
if a byler had bust.' 

" Oh, how it has lowered the English in the eyes of 
foreigners ! How sneakin' it makes 'em look ! They seem for 
all the world like scared dogs ; and a dog when he slopes off 
with his head down, his tail atween his legs, and his back so 
mean it won't bristle, is a caution to sinners. Lord, I wish 
I was Queen !" 

" What, of such a degraded race as you say the English are, 
of such a mean-spirited, sneaking nation ?" 

" Well, they wam't always so," he replied. " I will say 
that, for I have no prejudice. By natur, there is sunthin' 
noble and manly in a Britisher, and always was, till this cussed 
Spy System got into fashion. They tell me it was the Liberals 
first brought it into vogue. How that is, I don't know ; but 
1 shouldn't wonder if it was them, for I know this, if a feller 
talks very liberal in politics, put him into office, and see what 
a tyrant he'll make. If he talks very liberal in religion, it's 
because he hante got none at all. If he talks very liberal to 
the poor, talk is all the poor will ever get out of him. If he 
talks liberal about corn law, it tante to feed the hungry, but 
to lower wages, and so on in everything a'most. None is so 
liberal as those as hante got nothin'. The most liberal feller 
I know on is ' Old Scratch himself.' If ever the liberals 
come in, they should make him Prime Minister. He is very 
liberal in religion and would jine them in excludin' the 
Bible from common schools I know. He is very liberal about 
the criminal code, for he can't bear to see criminals 
punished. He is very liberal in politics, for he don't appro- 
bate restraint, and likes to let every critter ' go to the devil' 
his own way. Oh, he should be Head Spy and Prime 
Minister that feller. 

" But without jokin' tho', if I was Queen, the fust time 
any o' ray ministers came to me to report what the spies had 
said, I'd jist up and say, ' Minister,' I'd say, ' it is a cussed 
oninglish, onmanly, niggerly business, is this of pumpin', and 
spyin', and tattlin'. I don't like it a bit. I'll have neither 
art nor part in it ; I wash my hands clear of it. It will jist 
break the spirit of my people. So, minister look here. The 



' if 

I if 

; <, 



1 1 

V ml 

I -I 



1 > 




t s ■ 




next report that is brought to me of a spy, I'll whip his tongue 
out and whop your ear off, or my name ain't Queen. So jist 
mind what I say ; first spy pokes his nose into your office, 
chop it oflF and clap it up over Temple Bar, where they puts 
the heads of traitors, and write these words over, with your 
own fist, that they may know the handwritin', and not mis- 
take the meanin'. This is the nose of a Spy.'* 




Nothing is so fatiguing as sight-seeing. The number and 
variety of objects to which your attention is called, and the 
rapid succession in which they pass in review, at once wearies 
and perplexes the mind ; and unless you take notes to refresh 
your memory, you are aj)L to find you carry away with you 
but an imperfect and indistinct recollection. 

Yesterday was devoted to an inspection of the Tunnel and 
an examination of the Tower, two things that ought always to 
be viewed in juxta-position ; one being the greatest evidence of 
the science and wealth of modern times ; and the other of the 
power and pomp of our forefathers. 

It is a long time before a stranger can fully appreciate the 
extent of population and wealth of this vast metropolis. At 
first, he is astonished and confused ; his vision is indistinct. 
By degrees he begins to understand its localities, the ground 
plan becomes intelligible, and he can take it all in at one view. 
The map is a large one ; it is a chart of the world. He knows 
the capes and the bays ; he has sailed round them, and knows 
their relative distance, and at last becomes aware of the mag- 
nitude of the whole. Object after object becomes more fami- 
liar. He can estimate the population ; he compareaf the 
amount of it with that of countries that he is acquainted with, 
and finds that this one town contains within it nearly as great 
a number of souls as all British North America. He estimates 
the incomes of the inhabitants, and finds figures almost inade- 
quate to express the amount. He asks for the sources from 
whence it is derived. He resorts to his maxims of political 
economy, and they cannot inform him. He calculates the 
number of acres of land in England, adds up the rental, and is 




again at fault. He inquires into the statistics of the Exchange, 
and discovers that even that is inadequate; and, as a last 
resource, concludes that the whole world is tributary to this 
Queen of Cities. It is the heart of the Universe. All the cir- 
culation centres here, and hsnce are derived all those streams 
that give life and strength to the extremities. How vast, how 
populous, how rich, how well regulated, how well supplied, 
how clean, how well ventilated, how healthy ! — what a splendid 
city ! How worthy of such an empire and such a people ! 

What is the result of his experience ? It is, that there is no 
such country in the world as England, and no such place in Eng- 
land as London ; that London is better than any other town in 
winter, and quite as good as any other place in summer ; that 
containing not only all that he requires, but all that he can wish, 
in the greatest perfection, he desires never to leave it. 

Local descrii)tion, however, is not my object ; I shall there- 
fore return to my narrative. 

Our examination of the Tower and the Tunnel occupied the 
whole day, and though much gratified, we were no less fatigued. 
On returning to our lodgings, I found letters from Nova Scotia. 
Among others, was one from the widow of an old friend, 
enclosing a memorial to the Commander-in-Chief, setting forth 
the important and gratuitous services of her late husband to 
the local government of the province, and soliciting for her 
son some small sit'uation in the ordnance department, which 
had just fallen vacant at Halifax. 1 knew that it was not 
only out of my power to aid her, but that it was impossible for 
her, however strong the claims of her husband might be, to 
obtain her request. These things are required for friends and 
dependants in England ; and in the race of competition, what 
chance of success has a colonist ? ^ 

I made up my mind at once to forward her memorial as 
requested, but pondered on the propriety of adding to it a 
recommendation. It could do no good. At most, it would 
only be the certificate of an unknown man ; of one who had 
neither of the two great qualifications, namely, county or par- 
hamentary interest, but it might do harm. It might, by 
engendering ridicule from the insolence of office, weaken a 
claim, otherwise well founded. "Who the devil is this Mr. 
Thomas Poker, that recommends the prayer of the petition ? 
The fellow imagines all the world must have heard of him, A 








i J 









droll fellow that, I take it from his name : but all colonists are 
queer fellows, eh ?" 

" Bad news from home ?" said Mr. Slick, who had noticed 
my abstraction. ** No screw loose there, I hope. You don't 
look as if you liked the flavour of that ere nut you are crackin' 
of. Who's dead ? and what is to pay now ?" 

I read the letter and the memorial, and then explained from 
my own knowledge how numerous and how valuable were the 
services of my deceased friend, and expressed my regret at not 
being able to serve the memorialist. 

" Poor woman I" said Mr. Hopewell, " I pity her. A colo- 
nist has no chance for these things ; they have no patron. In 
this country merit will always obtain a patron — in the pro- 
vinces never. The English are a noble-minded, generous 
people, and whoever here deserves encouragement or reward, 
is certain to obtain either or both : but it must be a brilliant 
man, indeed, whose light can be perceived across the Atlantic." 

" I entertain. Sir," I said, " a very strong prejudice against 
relying on patrons. Dr. Johnson, after a long and fruitless 
attendance on Lord Chesterfield, says : ' Seven years, my 
Lord, have now past, since I waited in your outward rooms, or 
was repulsed from your door ; during which time I have been 
pushing on my work, through difficulties, of which it is useless 
to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publi- 
cation, without one act of assistance, one word of encourage- 
ment, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, 
for I never had a patron before.' " 

"Ah!" said Mr. Hopewell, **aman who feels that he is 
wrong, is always angry with somebody else. Dr. Johnson is 
not so much to be admired fur the independence that dictated 
that letter, as condemned for the meanness and servility of 
seven years of voluntary degradation. It is no wonder he 
spoke with bitterness ; for, while he censured his Lordship, he 
must have desjiised himself. There is a great diiference 
betweea a literary and political patron. The former is not 
needed, and a man does better without one ; the latter is 
essential. A good book, like good wine, needs no bush ; but 
to get aa office, you want merits or patrons ; merits so great, 
that they cannot be passed over, or friends so powerful, they 
cannot be refused." 

" Oh! you can't do nothin'. Squire," saiu Mr. Slick, " send 



it back to Old Marm : tell her you have the misfortin to be 
a colonist ; that if her son would like to be a constable, or a 
Hogreave, or a thistle-viewer, or sunthin' or another of that 
kind, you are ber man : but she has got the wrong cow by the 
tail this time. I never hear of a patron, I don't think of a 
frolic I once had with a cow's tail ; and, by hanging on to it 
like a snappin* turtle, I jist saved my life, that's a fact. 

" Tell you what it is. Squire, take a fool's advice, for once. 
Here you are ; I have made you considerable well-known, 
that's a fact ; and will introduce you to court, to king and 
queen, or any body you please. For our legation, though 
they can't dance, p'raps, as well as the French one can, could 
set all Europe a danciu* in wide awake airnest, it it chose. 
They darsent refuse us nothin', or we would fust embargo, 
and then go to war. Any one you want to know, I'll give 
you the ticket. Look round, select a good critter, and hold 
on to the tail, for dear life, and see if you hante a patron, 
worth havin'. You don't want none yourself, but you might 
want one some time or another, for them that's a coming arter 

•' When I was a half grow'd lad, the bears came down from 
Nor- West one year in droves, as a body might say, and our 
woods near Slickville was jist full of 'em. It warn't safe to 
go a-wanderin' about there adoin' of nothin', I tell you. Well, 
one arternoon, father sends me into the back pastur', to bring 
home the cows. * And,' says be, ' keep a stirrin', Sam, go 
ahead right away, and be out of the bushes afore sunset, on 
account of the bears, for that's about the varmints' supper- 

"Well, I looks to the sky, and I sees it was a considerable 
of a piece yet to daylight down, so I begins to pick strawber- 
ries as I goes along, and you never see anything so thick as 
they were, and wherever the grass was long, they'd stand up 
like a little bush, and hang in clusters, most as big and twice 
as good, to my likin', as garden ones. Well, the sun, it 
appears to me, is like a boss, when it comes near dark it mends 
its pace, and gets on like smoke, so afore I know'd where I 
was, twilight had come peepin' over the spruce tops. 

" Off I sot, hot foot, into the bushes, arter the cows, and as 
always eventuates when you are in a hurry, they was further 
back than common that time, away ever so fur back to a brook, 
clean off to the rear of the farm, so tliat day was gone afore J 





THE attache; 

got out of the woods, and I got proper frightened. Every 
noise I heerd I thought it was a bear, and when I looked 
round a one side, I guessed I heerd one on the other, and I 
hardly turned to look there, before I reckoned it was behind 
me, I was e'en a' most skeered to death. 

•* Thinks I, ' I shall never be able to keep up to the cows if 
a bear comes arter *em and chases 'em, and if I fall astarn, he'll 
just snap up a plump little corn fed feller like me in less than 
Jialf no time. Cryin',' says I, ' though, will do no good. 
You must be up and doin', Sam, or it's gone goose with you.' 

•• So a thought struck me. Father had always been a-talkin' 
to me about the leadin* men, and makin' acquaintance with 
the political big bugs when I growed up and havin' a patron, 
and so on. Thinks I, I'll take the leadin' cow for wy patron. 
So I jist goes and cuts a long tough ash saplin, and takes the 
little limbs oflr of it, and then walks along side of Mooley, as 
meachin' as you please, so she mightn't suspect nothin', and 
then grabs right hold of her tail, and yelled and screamed like 
mad, and wallopped away at her like anything. 

'• Well, the way she cut dirt was cautionary ; she cleared 
stumps, ditches, windfalls and ever^'thing, and made a straight 
track of it for home as the crow flies. Oh, she was a clipper : 
she fairly flew again, and if ever she flagged, I laid it into her 
with the ash saplin, and away we started agin, as if Old Nick 
himself was arter us. 

" But afore I reached home, the rest of the cows came a 
bellowin', and a roarin* and a-racin' like mad arter us, and 
gained on us too, so as most to overtake us, when jist as I 
come to the bars of the cow yard, over went Mooley, like a 
fox, brought me whap up agin 'em, which knocked all the 
v.'ind out of my lungs and the fire out of my eyes, and laid 
me sprawlin on the ground, and every one of the flock went 
right slap over me, all but one — poor Brindle. She never 
came home agin. Bear nabbed her, and tore her most ridi- 
culous. He eat what he wanted, which was no trifle, I can 
tell you, and left the lest till next time. 

" Don't talk to me. Squire, about merits. We all want a 
lift in this world ; sunthin' or another to lay hold on, to help 
us along — we want the cow's tail. 

"Tell your friend, the female widder, she has got hold of 
the wrong cow by tiie tail in gettin' hold of you (for you are 
nothin' but a despisable colonist) ; but to look out for some 



patron here, some leadin' man, or great lord, to clinch fast 
hold of him, and stick to him like a leech, and if he flags (for 
patrons, like old Mooley, get tired sometimes), t' ^collect the 
ash saplin, to lay it into him well, and keep him ■.„ it, and no 
fear but he'll carry her through. He'll fetch her home safe at 
last, and no mistake, depend on it, Squire. The best lesson 
that little boy could be taught, is, that of the Patron^ or the 
Cow's Tail:' 



To-day I visited Ascot. Race-courses are similar every 
where, and present the same objects ; good horses, cruel riders, 
knowing men, dupes, jockeys, gamblers, and a large assem- 
blage of mixed company. But this is a gayer scene than most 
others ; and every epithet, appropriate to a course, diminutive 
or otherwise, must be in the superlative degree when applied 
to Ascot. This is the general, and often the only impression 
that most men carry away with them. 

Mr. Slick, who regards these things practically, called my 
attention to another view of it. 

" Squire," said he, '* I'd a plaguy sight sooner see Ascot 
than anything else to England. There ain't nothin* like it. 
I don't mean the racin', because they can't go ahead like us, 
if they was to die for it. We have colts that can whip chain 
lightuin', on a pinch. Old Clay trotted with it once aU round 
an orchard, and beat it his whole length, but it singed his tail 
properly as he passed it, you may depend. It ain't its runnin' 
I speak of, therefore, though that ain't mean nother ; but it's 
got another featur', that you'll know it by from all others. 
Oh, it's an everlastin' pity you warn't here, when I was to 
England last time. Queen was there then ; and where she is, 
of course all the world and its wife is too. She warn't there 
this year, and it sarves folks right. If I was an angelyferous 
queen, like her, I wouldn't go nowhere till I had a tory 
minister, and then a feller that had a " trigger-eye" would 
stand a chance to get a white hemp-neckcloth. I don't wonder 
Hume don't like young England ; for when that boy grows 

I 2 


|l !l 

!' Ill 







THE attachk; 

up, he'll teach some folks that they had l>etter let some folks 
alone, or some folks had better take care of some folks' amper- 
sands that's all. 

"The time I speak of, people went in their carriages, and 
not by railroad. Now, pr'aps you don't know, in fact you 
can't know, for you can't cypher, colonists ain't no good at 
figurs, but if you did know, the way to judge of a nation is 
by its private carriages. From Hyde Park corner to Ascot 
Heath, is twenty odd miles. Well, there was one whole en- 
durin' stream of carriages all the way, sometimes havin' one or 
two eddies, and where the toll-gates stood, havin' still water 
for ever so far. Well, it flowed and flowed on for hours 
and hours without stoppin', like a river; and when you 
got up to the race-ground, there was the matter of two or 
three tiers of carriages, with the bosses oflT, packed as close as 
pins in a paper. 

" It costs near hand to twelve hundred dollars a-year to 
keep up a carriage here. Now for goodness' sa^c^ jiot multiply 
that everlastin' string of carriages by three hundred pounds 
each, and see what's spent in that way every year, and then 
multiply that by ten hundred thousand more that's in other 
places to England you don't see, and then tell me if rich people 
here ain't as thick as huckle-berries. 

" Well, when you've done, go to France, to Belgium, and 
to Prussia, three sizeable places for Europe, and rake and 
scrape every private carriage thej'e got, and they ain't no 
touch to what Ascot can show. Well, when you've done your 
cipherin', come right back to London, as hard as you can clip 
from the race-course, and you won't miss any of *em ; the 
town is as full as ever, to your eyes. A knowin' old coon, 
bred and born to London, might see the diflFerence, but you 

" Arter that's over, go and pitch the whole bilin* of 'em 
into the Thames, bosses, carriages, people, and all ; and next 
day, if it warn't for the black weepers and long faces of them 
that's lost money by it, and the black crape and happy faces 
of them that's got money, or titles, or what not by it, you 
wouldn't know nothin' about it. Carriages wouldn't rise ten 
cents in the pound in the market. A stranger, like you, if 
you warn't told, wouldn't know nothin' was the matter above 
common. There ain't nothin' to England shows its wealth 
like this. 


/ sai 



*' Says father to me when I came back, 
* what struck you most ?' 

*' ' Ascot Races,' sais I. 

'••Jist like you,' sais he. * Hosses and galls is all you 
think of. Wherever they be, there you are, that's a fact. 
You're a chip of the old block, my boy. There ain't nothin* 
like 'em ; is there V 

" Well, he was half right, was father. It's worth seein' 
for bosses and galls too ; but it's worth seein' for its carriage 
wealth alone. Heavens and airth, what a rich country it must 
be that has such a show in that line as England. Don't talk 
of stock, for it may fail ; or silversmiths' shops, for you can't 
tell what's plated ; or jewels, for they may be paste ; or goods, 
for they may be worth only half nothin' ; but talk of the car- 
riages, them's the witnesses that don't lie. 

'• And what do they say ? ' Calcutta keeps me, and China 
keeps me, and Bot'ney Bay keeps me, and Canada keeps me, 
and Nova Scotia keeps me, and the whales keep me, and the 
white bears keep me, and eveiything on the airth keeps me, 
everything onder the airth keeps me. In short, all the world 
keeps me.' " 

'• No, not all the world, Sam," said Mr. Hopewell ; "there 
are some repudiative States that dont keep me j and if you go 
to the auction-rooms, you'll see some beautiful carriages for 
sale, that say, ' the United States' Bank used to keep me, and 
some more that say, * Nick. Biddle put me down.' " 

" Minister, I won't stand that," said Mr. Slick. *' I won't 
stay here and hear you belittle Uncle Sam that way for 
nothin'. He ain't wuss than John Bull, arter all. Ain't 
there no swindle-banks here ? Jist tell me that. Don't our 
liners fetch over, every trip, fellers that cut and run from 
England, with their fobs filled with other men's money ? 
Ain't there lords in this countrj' that know how to ' repu- 
diate ' as well as ring- tail-roarers in ourn ? So come now, 
don't throw stones till you put your window- shutters to, or 
you may stand a smart chance of gettin' your own glass 
broke, that's a fact. 

" And then. Squire, jist look at the carriages. I'll bet you 
a goose and trimmin's you can't find their ditto nowhere. 
They are carriages, and no mistake, that's a fact. Look at 
the bosses, the harness, the paint, the linin's, the well-dressed, 
lazy, idle, infarnal hansum servants (these rascals, I suspicion. 





;; ?' 

i. jHl 



are picked out for their looks), look at the whole thing: all through 
the piece, take it. by and large, stock, lock, and barrel, and 
it's the dandy, that's a fact. Don't it cost money, that's all ? 
SuDitotalize it then, and see what it all comes to. it would 
make your hair stand on eend, I know. If it was all put into 
figurs. it would reach clean across the river ; and if it was all 
put into dollars, it would make a solid tire of silver, and hoop 
the world round and round, like a wheel. 

" If you want to give a man an idea of England, Squire, 
tell him of Ascot; and if you want to cram him, get old 

Multiplication-table Joe H-; to cast it up : for he'll make 

it come to twice as much as it railly is, and that will choke 
him. Yes, Squire, stick to Ascot." 




A CUNNING man is generally a suspicious one, and is as 
often led into error himself by his own misconceptions, as pro- 
tected from imposition by his habitual caution. 

Mr. Slick, who always acted on a motive, and never on an 
impulse, and who concealed his real objects behind ostensible 
ones, imagined that everybody else was governed by the same 
principle of action ; and, therefore, frequently deceived himself 
by attributing designs to others that never existed but in his 
own imagination. 

Whether the following story of the gander pulling was a 
fancy sketch of the Attache, or a narrative of facts, I had no 
means of ascertaining. Strange interviews and queer con- 
versations he constantly had with official as well as private 
individuals, but as he often gave his opinions the form of an 
anecdote, for the purpose of interesting his hearers, it was not 
always easy to decide whether his stories were facts or 

If, on the present occasion, it was of the latter description, 
it is manifest that he entertained no very high opinion of the 
constitutional changes effected in the government of the colo- 
nies by the Whigs, during their long and perilous rule. If of 
the former kind, it is to be lamented that he concealed his 



deliberate convictions under nn allegorical piece of humour. 
His disposition to "humbug" was so great, it was diiiicult 
to obtain a phiin straightforward reply from him; but had the 
Secretary of State put the question to him in direct terras, 
what he thought of Lord Durham's " He8poni>ible govern- 
ment," and the practical working of it under Lord Sydenham's 
and Sir Charles Bagot's administration, he would have ob- 
tained a plain and intelligible answer. If the interview to 
which he alludes ever did take place (which I am bound to 
add, is very doubtful, notwithstanding the minuteness with 
which it is detailed), it is deeply to be regretted that he was 
not addressed in that frank manner which could alone elicit 
his real sentiments ; for I know of no man so competent to 
oifer an opinion on these subjects as himself. 

To govern England successfully, it is necessary to know the 
temper of Englishmen. Obvious as this appears to be, the 
frequent relinquishment of government measures, by the 
dominant party, shows that their own statesmen are some- 
times deficient in this knowledge. 

Mr. Slick says, that if Sir James Graham had consulted 
him, he could have shown him how to carry the educational 
clauses of his favourite bill. This, perhaps, is rather an 
instance of Mr. Slick's vanity, than a proof of his sagacity. 
But if this species of information is not easy of attainment 
here, even by natives, how difficult must it be to govern a 
people three thousand miles off, who differ most materially in 
thought, word, and deed, from their official rulers. 

Mr. Slick, when we had not met during the day, generally 
visited me at night, about the time I usually returned from a 
dinner-party, and amused me by a recital of his adventures. 

" Squire," said he, " I have had a most curious capur to-day, 
and one that will interest you, I guess. Jist as I was a settin' 
down to breakfast this momin', and was a turnin' of an egg 
inside out into a wine-glass, to salt, pepper and butter it for 
Red-lane Alley, I received a note from a Mister Pen, saying 
the Right Honourable Mr. Tact would be glad, if it was con- 
venient, if I would call down to his office, to Downin' Street, 
to-day, at four oclock. Thinks says I to myself, * What's 
to pay now ? Is it the Boundary Line, or the Creole Case, or 
Colonial Trade, or the Bumin' of the Caroline, or Right o* 
Sarch ? or what national subject is on the carpet to-day ? 
Howsundever,' sais I, ' iet the charge be what it will, slugs, 

' I 

I ! 




rifle-bullet, or powder, go I must, that's a fact.' So I tips 
him a shot right off : here's the draft. Sir, it's in reg'lar state 

"Si'-. . !.'l': 

** I have the high honour to acknowledge the receipt of your 
letter of this present first of June instant, and note its con 
tents. The conference (subject unknown), proffered by the 
Right Honourable Mr. Tact, I accede to hereby protesting 
and resarving all rights of confarmation and reniggin' of 
our Extraordinary Embassador, now absent from London, at 
the great agricultural meetin'. I would suggest, next time, 
it would better convene to business, to insart subject of dis- 
cussion, to prevent being taken at a short. 

•' I have to assure you of the high consideration of your 
most obedient servant to command. 

• The Hon. Sam Slick, 
•• Attach^. 

" Well, when the time comes, I rigs up, puts on the legation 
coat, calls a cab, and downs to Downing Street, and looks as 
dignified as 1 cleverly knew how. 

•* When I enters the outer door, I sees a man in an arm- 
chair in the entry, and he looked like a buster, I tell you, jist 
ready to blow up with the steam of all the secrets he had in 
his byler. 

*• • Can I see Mr. Tact ?' sais I. 

" ' Tell you directly,' sais he, jist short like ; for English- 
men are kinder costive of words ; they don't use more nor will 
do, at no time ; and he rings a bell. This brings in his 
second in command ; and sais he, ' Pray walk in here, if you 
please. Sir,* and he led me into a little plain, stage-coach- house 
lookin' room, with nothin' but a table and two or three chairs 
in it ; and says he, * Who shall I say. Sir .'' 

" * The Honourable Mr. Slick' sais I, * Attach^ of the Ame- 
rican liCgation to the court of Saint .Hmses' Victoria.' 

" Off he sot ; and there I waited and waited for ever so 
long, but he didn't come back. Well I walked to the winder 
and looked out, but there was nothin' to see there ; and then 
I turned and looked at a great big map on the wall, and there 
was nothin' I didn't know there ; and then I took out my pen- 



knife to whittle, but my miils wns all whittled off already, 
except one, and that was made into a ]]en, and I didn't like 
to spile that ; and as there wasn't anything I could get hold 
of. I jist slivered a great big bit off the leg of the chair, and 
began to make a toothpick of it. And when I had got that 
finished, I begins to get tired ; for nothin' makes me so pes- 
killy oneasy as to be kept waitin' ; for if a clockmaker don't 
know the valy of time, who the plague does ? 

** So jist to pass it away, I began to hum • Jim Brown.' 
Did you ever hear it, Squire ? it a a'most a beautiful air, as 
most all them nigger songs are. I'll make you a varse> 
that will suit a despicable colonist exactly. 


I vrent up to London, the capital of the nation, 
To see Lord Stanley, and get a sitivation. 
Says he to me, * Sam Slick, what can you do ?' 
Says I, * Lord Stanley, jist as much as you. 
Liberate the rebels, and 'mancipate the niggers, 
Hunror for our aide, and damn thimble-riggers. 

" Airth and seas ! If you was to sing that 'ere song there, 
how it would make 'em stare ; wouldn't it ? Such words as* 
them was never heerd in that patronage office, I guess ; and 
yet folks must have often thort it too ; that's a fact. 

" I was a hummin' the rael * Jim Brown,' and got as far as : 

Play upon the banjo, play upon the fiddle, 
Walk about the town, and abuse old Biddle, 



when I stopped right in the middle of it, for it kinder sorter 
struck me it warn't dignified to be a singin' of nigger-catches 
that way. So says I to myself, ' This ain't respectful to our 
great nation to keep a high functionary a waitin' arter this 
fashion, is it? Guess I'd better assart the honour of our 
republic by goin' away ; and let him see that it warn't me that 
was his lackey last year.' 

" Well, jist as I had taken the sleeve of my coat and given 
my hat a rub over with it, (a good hat will carry off an old 
suit of clothes at any time, but a new suit of clothes will never 
carry off an old hat, so I likes to keep my hat in good order 

■ .1 



i ! 




I had done, in walks 
he, 'Mr. Tact will 



in a general way). Well, jist as 
porter's first leftenant; and sais 
you. Sir.' 

•' * He come plaugy near not seein' of me, then,' sais I ; 
* for I had jist commenced makin' tracks as you come in. 
The next time he sends for me, tell him not to send till he is 
ready, will you ? For it's a rule o' mine to tag arter no man.' 

" The critter jist stopped short, and began to see whether 
that spelt treason or no. He never heerd freedom o' speech 
afore, that feller, I guess, unless it was somebody a jawin' of 
him, up hill and down dale ; so sais I, ' Lead off, my old 
'coon, and I will foUer you, and no mistake, if you blaze the 
line well.' 

'*So he led me up stairs, opened a door, and 'nounced me ; 
and there was Mr. Tact, sittin' at a large table, all alone. 

" ' How do you do, Mr. Slick,' says he. ' I am very glad 
to see you. Pray be seated.' He railly was a very gentle- 
manlike man, was Squire Tact, that's a fact. Sorry I kept 
you waitin' so long,' sais he, * but the Turkish Ambassador 
was here at the time, and I was compelled to wait until he 
went. I sent for you. Sir, a-hem ! and he rubbed his hand 
acrost his mouth, and looked up at the comish, and said, ' I 
sent for you. Sir, a-hem !' — (thinks 1,1 see now. All you 
will say for half an hour is only throw'd up for a brush fence, 
to lay down behind to take aim through ; and arter that, the 
first shot is the one that's aimed at the bird), ' to explain to 
you about this African Slave Treaty,' said he. * Your govern- 
ment don't seem to comprehend me in reference to this Right 
of Sarch. Lookin' a man in the face, to see he is the right 
man, and sarchin' his pockets, are two very different things. 
You take, don't you V 

" ' I'm up to snuff, Sir,' sais I, ' and no mistake. I know'd 
well enough that warn't what he sent for me for, by the way 
he humm'd and hawed when he began. 

" ' Taking up a trunk, as every hotel-keeper does and has a 
right to do, and examinin' the name on the brass plate to the 
eend on't, is one thing ; forcin' the lock and ransackin' the 
contents, is another. One is precaution, the other is 
burglary.* ,. .,'" 

" * It tante burglary,' sais I, ' unless the lodger sleeps in his 
trunk. It's only — ' 

• -Ma; 



'* ' Well,' says he, a colourin' up, • that's technical. I leave 
these matters to my law officers.' 

•' I larnt that little matter of law from brother Eldad, the 
lawyer, but I guess I was wrong there, I don't think I had 
ought to have given him that sly poke ; but I didn't like hia 
talkin' that way to me. Whenever a feller tries to pull the 
wool over your eyes, it's a sign he don't think high of your 
onderstandin'. It isn't complimental, that's a fact. * One is 
a serious offence, 1 mean,' sais he ; ' the other is not. We 
don't want to sarch ; we only want to look a slaver in the face, 
and see whether he is a free and enlightened American or not. 
If he is, the flag of liberty protects him and his slaves ; if he 
ain't, it don't protect him, nor them nother.* 
„ " Then he did a leadin' article on slavery, and a paragraph 
on non-intervention, and spoke a little soft sawder about 
America, and wounvi up by askin* me if he had made himself 

" * Plain as a boot-jack/ sais I. 
* " When that was over, he took breath. He sot back on his 
chair, put one leg over the other, and took a fresh departur' 

" ' I have read your books, Mr. Slick,' said he, ' and read 
'em, too, with great pleasure. You have been a great traveller 
in your day. You've been round the world a'most, haven't 

'* 'Well,' sais I, ' I sham't say I hante ' " 
** • What a deal of information a man of your observation 
must have acqaired.' (He is a gentlemanly man, that, you 
may depend. I don't know when I've see'd one so well man- 

" * Not so much. Sir, as you would suppose,' sais I. 
•* • Why how so ?' sais he. 

" * Why,' sais I, * the first time a man goes round the 
world, he is plaguy skeered for fear of fallin' off the erige ; the 
second time he gets used to it, and learns a good deal.' 

'* * Fallin' off the edge !' sais he ; ' what an original idea 
that is. That's one of your best. I like your works for that 
they are original. We have nothin' but imitations now. 
Fallin' off the edge, that's capital. I must tell Peel that ; for 
he is very fond of that sort of thing.' 

'* He was a very pretty spoken man, was Mr. Tact ; he is 
quite the gentleman, that's a fact. I love to hear him talk ; 

* if I 

' m 


THE attachk; 

he is 80 very perlite, and seems to take a likin' to me par- 

Few men are so open to flattery as Mr. Slick ; and although 
" soft sawder" is one of the artifices he constantly uses in his 
intercourse with others, he is often thrown off his guard by it 
himself. How much easier it is to discover the weaknesses of 
others than to see our own ! 

But to resume the story. 

" * You have been a good deal in the colonies, haven't you ?* 
said he, 

" ' Considerable sum,' sais I. ' Now,' sais I to myself, * this 
is the raal object he sent for me for; but I won't tell him 
nothin'. If he'd a up and askt me right off the reel, like a 
man, he'd a found me up to the notch; but he thort to 
play me off. Now I'll sarve him out his own way , so here 

" ' Your long acquaintance with the provinces, and familiar 
intercourse with the people,' sais he, ' must have made you 
quite at home on all colonial topics.' 

•' *I thought so once,' sais I ; ' but I don't think so now no 
more, Sir.' 

" • Why how is that V sais he. 

" ♦ Why, Sir,' sais I, • you can hold a book so near your 
eyes as not to be able to read a word of it ; hold it off further, 
and get the right focus, and you can read it beautiful. Now 
the right distance to see a colony, and know all about it, is 
England. Three thousand miles is the right focus for a poli- 
tical spy-glass. A man livin' here, and who never was 
out of England, knows twice as much about the provinces 
as I do.* 

" * Oh, you are joking,' sais he. 

** ' Not a bit,' sais I. ' I find folks here that not only 
know everything about them countries, but have no doubts 
upon any matter, and ask no questions ; in fact they not only 
know more than me, but more than the people themselves do, 
what they want. It's curious, but it's a fact. A colonist is 
the most beautiful critter in natur to try experiments on, you 
ever see ; for he is so simple and good-natured he don't know 
no better ; and so weak, he couldn't help himself if he did. 
There's great fun in making these experiments, too. It puts 
me in mind of '* Gander Pulling ;" you know what that is, 
don't you V 



" * No,' he said, * I never heard of it. Is it an American 
sport ?' 

" ' Yes,' sais I, ' it is ; and the most excitin' thing, too, you 
ever see.' 

'• * You are a very droll man, Mr. Slick,' said he, ' a very 
droll man indeed. In all your hooks there is a great deal of 
fun ; but in all your fun there is a meanin'. Your jokes hit, 
and hit pretty hard, too, sometimes. They make a man think 
as well as laugh. But describe this Gander Pulling.* 

" • Well, I'll tell you how it is,' sais I. 'First and fore- 
most, a ring-road is formed, like a small race-course ; then, two 
great long posts is fixed into the ground, one on each side of 
the road, and a rope made fast by the eends to each post, 
leavin the middle of the rope to hang loose in a curve. Well, 
then they take a gander and pick his neck as clean as a 
babby's, and then grease it most beautiful all the way from the 
breast to the head, till it becomes as slippery as a soaped eel. 
Then they tie both his legs together with a strong piece of 
cord, of the size of a halyard, and hang him by the feet to the 
middle of the swingin' rope, with his head downward. All the 
youngsters, all round the country, come to see the sport, 
mounted n horseback. 

** ' Well, the owner of the goose goes round with his hat, 
and gets so much a-piece in it from every one that enters for 
the "Pullin':" and when all have entered, they bring their 
bosses in a line, one arter another; and at the words, 'Go 
a-head I' off they set, as hard as they can split ; and as they 
pass under the goose, make a grab at him ; and whoever car- 
ries off the head, wins. 

" 'Well, the goose dodges his head and flaps his wings, and 
swings about so, it ain't no easy matter to clutch his neck ; 
and when you do, it's so greasy, it slips right through the 
fingers, like nothin*. Sometimes it takes so long, that the 
bosses are fairly beat out, and can't scarcely raise a gallop ; and 
then a man stands by the post, with a heavy loaded whip, to 
lash 'em on, so that they mayn't stand under the goose, which 
ain't fair. The whoopin', and hoUerin', and screamin', and 
bettin', and excitement, beats all; there ain't hardly no sport 
equal to it. It's great fun to alt except the poor goosey-gander . 

"'The game of colony government to Canady, for some 

Colonist has had 




his heels put where his head used to be, this some time past. 







■ m 





He has had his legs tied, and his neck properly greased, I tell 
you; and the way every parliament man, and governor, and 
secretary, gallops round and round, one arter another, a grab- 
bin' at poor colonist, ain't no matter. Every new one on 'em 
that comes is confident he is a goin' to set>.le it ; but it slips 
through his hand, and olF he goes, properly larfed at. 

"* They have pretty nearly fixed goosey colonist, though; 
he has got his neck wrung several times ; it's twisted all a one 
side, his tongue hangs out, and he squeaks piteon». that's a 
fact. Another good grab or two will put him out o' pain ; 
and it's a pity it wouldn't, for no created critter can live long, 
turned wrong eend up, that way. But the sport will last long 
arter that ; for arter his neck is broke, it ain't no easy matter 
to get the head off ; the cords that tie that on are as thick as 
your finger. It's the greatest fun oat there you ever see, to 
all except poor goosey colonist. 

'* * I've larfed ready to kill myself at it. Some o' these 
Englishers that come out, mounted for the sport, and expect a 
peerage as a reward for bringiu' home the head and settlin' the 
business for colonist, do cut such figurs, it would make you 
spUt ; and they are all so everlastin' consaited, they won't take 
no advice. The way they can't do it is cautionary. One gets 
throwed, another gets all covered with grease, a third loses his 
hat, a fourth gets run away with by his horse, a fifth sees he 
can't do it, makes some excuse, and leaves the ground afore 
the sport is over ; and now and then an unfortunate oritter gets 
a hyste that breaks his own neck. There is only one on 'em 
that I have see'd out there, that can do it right. 

'• * It requires some experience, that's a fact. But let John 
Bull alone for that ; he is a critter that thinks he knows every- 
thing ; and if you told him he didn't, he wouldn't believe you, 
not he. He'd only pity your ignorance, and look dreadful 
sorry for you. Oh, if you want to see high life, come and see 
*' a colonial gander pulling." 

" ' Tying up a goose. Sir, is no great harm,' sais I, * seein' 
that a goose was made to be killed, picked and devoured, and 
nothin' else. Tyin' up a colonist by the heels is another thing. 
I don't think it right ; but I don't know nothin' ; I've had the 

book too close to my eyes. Joe H e, that never was 

there, can tell you twice as much as I can about the colonies. 
The focus to see right, as I said afore, is three thousand 
miles off.' 



"'Well,' sais he, 'that's a capital illustration, Mr. Slick. 
There is more in that than meets the ear. Don't tell me you 
don't know ncthin' about the colonies ; few men know so much 
as you do. I wish to heavens you was a colonist/ sais he ; 
' if you were, I would offer you a government.' 

*• * I don't doubt it,' sais I ; ' seein' that your department 
have advanced or rewarded so many colonists already.' But 1 
don't think he heard that shot, and I wam't sorry for it ; for 
it's not right to be a pokin* it into a perlite man, is it ? 

*'* I must tell the Queen that story of Ihe Gander Pulling,' 
sais he ; * I like it amazingly. It's a capital caricature. I'll 
send the idea to H.B. Pray name some day when you are 
disengaged ; I hope you will give me the p leasure of dining 
with me. Will this day fortnight suit you V 

" ' Thank you,* sais I, ' I shall have great pleasure.' 

" He railly was a gentlemany man that. He was so good 
natured, and took the joke so well, I was kinder sorry I 
played it off on him. I hante see'd no man to England I 
affection so much as Mr. Tact, I swear ! I begin to think, 
arter all, it was the right of sarchin' vessels he wanted to talk 
to me about, instead of sarchin' me, as I suspicioned. It don't 
do always to look for motives ; men often act without any. The 
next time, if he axes me, I'll talk plain, and jist tell him what 
I do think ; but still, if he reads that riddle right, he may lam 
a good deal, too, from the story of * the Gander Pulling* 
mayn't he ?" 



The foregoing sketch exhibits a personal trait in Mr. Slick's 
character, the present a national one. In the interview, whe- 
ther real or fanciful, that he alleges to have had with one of 
the Secretaries of Staie, he was not disposed to give a direct 
reply, because his habitual caution led him to suspect that an 
attempt was made to draw him out on a particular topic 
without his being made aware of the object. On the present 
occasion, he exhibits that irritability which is so common 
among all his countrymen, at the absurd accounts that tra- 








vellers give of the United States in general, and the gross 
exaggerations they publish of the state of slavery in particular. 

That there is a party in this country, whose morbid sen- 
sibility is pandered to on the subject of negro emancipation 
there can be no doubt, as is proved by the experiment made 
by Mr. Slick, recorded in this chapter. 

On this subject every man has a right to his own opinions, 
but any interference with the municipal regulations of another 
country, is so utterly unjustifiable, that it cannot be wondered 
at that the Americans resent the conduct of the European 
abolitionists in the most unqualified and violent manner. 

The conversation that I am now about to repeat, took place 
on the Thames. Our visits, hitherto, had been restricted by 
the rain to London. To-day, the weather being fine, we took 
passage on board of a steamer, and went to Greenwich. 

While we were walking up and down the deck, Mr. Slick 
again adverted to the story of the government spies with great 
warmth. I endeavoured, but in vain, to persuade him that no 
regular organized system of espionage existed in England. 
He had obtained a garbled account of one or two occurrences, 
and his prejudice (which, notwithstanding his disavowal, I k^iew 
to be so strong as to warp all his opinions of England and the 
English), immediately built up a system, which nothing I could 
say could at all shake. 

I assured him the instances he had mentioned were isolated 
and unauthorized acts, told in a very distorted manner but 
that mitigated, as they really were, when truly related, they 
were at the time received with the unanimous disapprobation 
of every right-thinking man in the kingdom, and that the 
odium which had fallen on the relators, was so immeasurably 
greater than what had been bestowed on the thoughtless prin- 
cipals, there was no danger of such things again occurring in 
our day. But he was immovable. 

•• Oh, of course, it isn't true," he said, " and every English- 
man will swear it'i a falsehood. But you must not expect 
us to disbelieve it, nevertheless ; for your travellers who come 
to America, pick up, here and there, some absurd ontruth or 
another ; or, if they are all picked up already, invent one ; and 
although every man, woman, and child is ready to take their 
bible oaths it is a bam, yet the English believe this one false 
witness in prefence to the whole nation. 

'* You must excuse me, Squire ; you have a right to your 

) I 



opinion, though it seems you have no right to blart it out 
always ; but I am a freeman, I was raised in Slickville, Onion 
County, State of Connecticut, United States of America, 
which is a free country, and no mistake ; and I have a right 
to my opinion, and a right to speak it, too ; and let me see 
the man, airl or commoner, parliamenterer or sodger officer, 
that dare to report me, I guess he'd wish he'd been born a 
week later, that's all. I'd make a caution of him, / know. 
I'd polish his dial-plate fust, and then I'd feel his short ribs, 
so as to make him larf, a lectle jist a leetle the loudest he ever 
heerd. Lord, he'd think thunder and lightnin* a mint julip 
to it. I'd ring him in the nose as they do pigs in my country, 
to prevent them rootin' up what they hadn't ought.'* 

Having excited himself by his own story, he first imagined 
a case and then resented it, as if it had occured. I ex- 
pressed to him my great regret that he should visit England 
with these feelings and prejudices, as I had hoped his con- 
versation would have been as rational and as amusing as it 
was in Nova Scotia, and concluded by saying that I felt assured 
he would find that no such prejudice existed here against his 
countrymen, as he entertained towards the English. 

** Lord love you !" said he, "I have no prejudice. I am the 
most candid man you ever see. I have got some grit, but I 
ain't ugly, I ain't indeed." 

" But you are wrong about the English ; and I'll prove it 
to you. Do you see that turkey there r' said he. 

" Where ?" I asked. " I see no turkey ; indeed, I have 
seen none on board. What do you mean ?" 

" Why that slight, pale-faced, student-like Britisher ; he is 
a turkey, that feller. He has been all over the Union, and he 
is a goin' to write a book. He was at New Ycrk when we 
left, and was introduced to me in the, street. To make it 
liquorish, he has got all the advertisements about runaway 
slaves, sales of niggers, cruel mistresses and licentious masters, 
that he could pick up. He is a caterer and panderer to 
English hypocrisy. There is nothin' too gross for him to 
swaller. We call them turkeys ; first because they travel so 
fast — for no bird travels hot foot that way, except it be be an 
ostrich — and because they gobble up everything that comes 
in their way. Them fellers will swaller a falsehood as fast as 
a turkey does a grasshopper ; take it right down whole, with- 
out winkin'. 




V ■ 





" Now, as we have nothin* above particular to do, ' I'll 
cram him ' for you ; I will show you how hungry he'll bite at 
a tale of horror, let it be never so onlikely ; how readily he 
will believe it, because it is agin us ; and then, when his book 
comes out, you shall see that all England will credit it, though 
I swear I invented it as a cram, and you swear you heard it 
told as a joke. They've drank in so much that is strong, in 
this way, have the English, they require somethin' sharp 
enough to tickle their palates now. Wine hante no taste for a 
man that drinks grog, that's a fact. It's as weak as Taunton 
water. Come and walk up and down deck along with me once 
or twice, and then we will sit down by him, promiscuously hke ; 
and as soon as I get his appetite sharp, see how I will cram 

" This steam-boat is very onsteady to-day. Sir," said Mr, 
Slick ; " its's not overly convenient walking, is it ?*' 

The ice was broken. Mr. Slick led him on by degrees to 
his travels, commencing with New England, which the travel- 
ler eulogised very much. He then complimented him on the 
accuracy of his remarks and the depth of his reflections^ and 
concluded by expressing a hope that he would publish his 
observations soon, as few tourists were so well qualified for the 
task as himself. 

Finding these preliriinary remarks taken in good part, he 
commenced the process of '* cramming." 

'* But oh, my friend." said he, with a most sanctimonious 
air, ** did you visit, and I am ashamed as an American citizen 
to ask the question, I feel the blood a tannin' of my cheek 
when I inquire, did you visit the South ? That land that is 
polluted with slavery, that land where boastin' and crackin' of 
freemen pile up the agony pangs on the corroding wounds 
inflicted by the iron chains of the slave, until natur can't stand 
it no more ; my heart bleeds like a stuck critter, when I think 
of this plague spot on the body politic. I ought not to speak 
thus ; prudence forbids it, national pride forbids it ; but genu- 
wine feelings is too strong for pollite forms. * Out of the 
fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh.' Have you been 
there ?" 

*• Turkey " was thrown olF his guard, he opened his wallet,^ 
which was well stocked, and retailed his stories, many of them 
so very rich, that I doubted the capacity of the Attache to out- 
Herod him. Mr. Slick received these tales with evident 



horror, and complimented the narrator with a well simulated 
groan ; and when he had done, said, "Ah, I see how it is, 
they purposely kept daik about the most atrocious features of 
slavery. Have you never seen the Gougin* School ?" 

" No, never." 
. *' What, not seen the Gougin' School ?" 

" No, Sir ; I never heard of it." 

" Why, you don't mean to say so ?" 

" I do, indeed, I assure you." 

" Well, if that don't pass ! And you never even heerd tell 
of it, eh?" 

" Never, Sir. I have never either seen or heard of it." 

" I thought as much," said Mr. Slick. " I doubt if any 
Britisher ever did or ever will see it. Well, Sir, in South 
Carolina, there is a man called Josiah Wormwood ; I am 
ashamed to say he is a Connecticut man. For a considerable 
of a spell, he was a strollin' preacher, but it didn't pay in the 
long run. There is so much competition in that line in our 
country, that he consaited the business was overdone, and he 
opened a Lyceum to Charleston South Car, for boxin', wrestlin', 
and other purlite British accomplishments ; and a most a beau- 
tiful sparrer he is, too ; I don't know as I ever see a more 
scientific gentleman than he is, in that line. Lately, he has 
halfed on to it the art of gougin' or ' monokolisin,' as he calls 
it, to sound grand ; and if it weren't so dreadful in its conse- 
quences, it sartainly is a most allurin' thing, is gougin'. The 
sleight-of-hand is beautiful. All other sleights we know are 
tricks ; but this is reality ; there is the eye of your adversary 
in your hand ; there is no mistake. It's the real thing. You 
feel you have him ; that you have set your mark on him, and 
that you have took your satisfaction. The throb of delight 
felt by a ' monokolister' is beyond all conception." 

" Oh heavens !" said the traveller. " Oh horror of hor- 
rors ! I never heard anything so dreadful. Your manner of 
telling it, too, adds to its terrors. You appear to view the 
practice with a proper Christian disgust ; and yet you talk 
like an amateur. Oh, the thing is sickening." 

" It is, indeed," said Mr. Slick, " particularly to him that 
loses his peeper. But the dexterity, you know, is another 
thing. It is very scientific. He has two niggers, has Squire 
Wormwood, who teach the wrastlin' and gouge- sparrin' ; but 
practisin' for the eye is done for punishment of runaways. 



• V' i 





He has plenty of subjects. All the planters send their fugit- 
ive niggers there to be practised on for an eye. The scholars 
ain't allowed to take more than one eye out of them ; if they 
do, they have to pay for the nigger ; for he is no sort o' good 
after for nothin' but to pick oakum. I could go through the 
form, and give you the cries to the life, but I won't ; it is too 
horrid ; it really is too dreadful." 

*' Oh do, I beg of you," said the traveller. 

" I cannot, indeed ; it is too shocking. It will disgust you." 

" Oh, not at all," said Turkey, *' when I know it is simu- 
lated, and not real, it is another thing." 

" I cannot, indeed," said Mr. Slick. " It would shock your 
philanthropic soul, and set your very teeth of humanity on edge. 
But have you ever seen — the Black Stole ?" 


" Never seen the Black Stole ?" 

*'No, never." 

" Why it ain't possible ? Did you never hear of it nother?" 

** No, never. Well now, do tell !" 

" So you never heerd tell of it, nor never sot eyes on it ?" 

" Certainly never." 

'* Well, that bangs the bush, now ? I suppose you didn't. 
Guess you never did, and never will, nor no other traveller, 
nother, that ever stept in shoe-leather. They keep dark about 
these atrocities. Well, the Black Stole is a loose kind of 
shirt-coat, like an English carter's frock ; only, it is of a dif- 
ferent colour. It is black instead of white, and made of nigger 
hide, beautifully tanned, and dressed as soft as a glove. It 
»n't every nigger's hide that's fit for a stole. If they are too 
young, it is too much like kid ; if they are too old, it's like 
sole leather, it's so tough ; and if they have been whipt, as all 
on 'em have a'most, why the back is all cut to pieces, and the 
hide ruined. It takes several sound nigger skins to make a 
stole ; but when made, it's a beautiful article, that's a fact. 

*' It is used on a plantation for punishment. When the 
whip don't do its work, strip a slave, and jist clap on to him 
the Black Stole. Dress him up in a dead man's skin, and it 
frightens him near about to death. You'll hear him screech 
for a mile a'most, so 'tarnally skeered. And the best of the 
fun is, that all the rest of the herd, bulls, cows, and calves, 
run away from him, just as if he was a painter." 

" Fun, Sir ! Do you call this fun }" 





"Wliy sartainly I do. Ain't it better nor whippin' to 
death ? What's a Stole arter all ? It's nothin' but a coat. 
Philosophizin' on it, Stranger, there is nothin' to shock a man. 
The dead don't feel. Skinnin', then, ain't cruel, nor is it 
immoral. To bury a good hide, is waste — waste is wicked. 
There are more good hides buried in the States, black and 
white, every year, than would pay the poor-rates and state- 
taxes. They make excellent huntin' -coats, and would make 
beautiful razor- straps, bindin' for books, and such like things ; 
it would make a noble export. Tannin' in hemlock bark cures 
the horrid nigger flavour. But then we hante arrived at that 
state of philosophy ; and when it is so confined to one class of 
the human family, it would be dangerous. The skin of a 
crippled slave might be worth more than the critter was him- 
?e\{ ; and I make no doubt, we should soon hear of a stray 
nigger being shot for his hide, as you do of a moose for his 
skin, and a bear for his fur. 

" Indeed, that is the reason (though I shouldn't mention it 
as an Attach^) that our government won't now concur to 
suppress the slave-trade. They say the prisoners will all be 
murdered, and their peels sold ; and that vessels, instead of 
taking in at Africa a ca' ^u of humans, will take in a cargo of 
hides, as they do to South America. As a Christian, a phi- 
lanthropist, indeed, as a man, this is a horrid subject to con- 
template, ain't it?" 

" Indeed it is," said Turkey. " I feel a little overcome — 
head swims — I am oppiesscd vfith nausea — I must go below." 

'• How the goney swallered it all, didn't he ?" said Mr. 
Slick, with great glee. " Hante he a most beautiful twist, 
that feller ? How he gobbled it down, tank, shank and flank 
at a gulp, didn't he. Oh he is a Turkey and no mistake, that 
chap. But see here, Squire ; jist look through the skylight. 
See the crittur, how his pencil is a leggin' it off, for dear life. 
Oh, there is great fun in crammin' those fellers. 

'* Now tell me candid. Squire ; do you think there is no 
prejudice in the Britishers agin us and our free and enlightened 
country, when they can swaller such stuff as the Gougin' 
School and Black Stole f' 












I • 






" TflBBB is more in that story. Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, 
" of the Patron, and Sum's queer illustration of the Cow's 
Tail, than you are aware of. The machinery of the colonies is 
good enough in itself, but it wants a safety valve. When the 
pressure within is too great, there should be something devised 
to let off the steam. This is a subject well worthy of your 
consideration ; and if you have an opportunity of conversing 
with any of the ministry, pray draw their attention to it. By 
not understanding this, the English have caused one revolution 
at home, and another in America." 

** Exactly," said Mr. Slick. "It reminds me of what I 
once saw done by the Prince de Joinville's horse, on the Hali- 
fax road." ,..;', 

"Pardon me," said Mr. Hopewell, *'you shall have an 
opportunity presently of telling your story of the Prince's 
horse, but suffer me to proceed. 

" England, besides other outlets, has a never-failing one in 
the colonies, but the colonies have no outlet. Cromwell and 
Hampden were actually embarked on board of a vessel in the 
Thames, for Boston, when they were prevented from sailing by 
an Order in Council. What was the consequence ? The 
sovereign was dethroned. Instead of leading a small sect of 
fanatical puritans, and being the first men of a village in Mas- 
sachusets, they aspired to be the first men in an empire, and 
succeeded. So in the old colonies. Had Washington been 
sent abroad in command of a regiment, Adams to govern a 
colony, Franklin to make experiments in an observatory like 
that at Greenwich, and a more extended field been opened to 
colonial talent, the United States would still have continued to 
be dependencies of Great Britain. 

"There is no room for men of talent in British America; 
and by not affording them an opportunity of distinguishing 
themselvc i, or rewarding them when they do, they are always 
ready to make one, by opposition. In comparing their situa- 
tion with that of the British Isles, they feel that they labour 
under disabilities ; these disabilities they feel as a degradation ; 




and as those who impose that degradation live three thousand 
miles off, it becomes a question whether it is better to suffer or 

"The Prince de Joinville's horse," said Mr. SHck, "is a 
case in pint." 

**One moment, Sam," said Mr. Hopewell. 

" The very word ' dependencies* shows the state of the colo- 
nies. If they are to be retained, they should be incorporated 
with Great Britain. Tlie people should be made to feel, not 
that they are colonists, but Englishmen. They may tinker at 
constitutions as much as they please ; the root of the evil lies 
deeper than statesmen are aware of. O'Connell, when he 
agitates for a rejienl of the Union, if he really has no ulterior 
objects beyond that of an Irish Parliament, does not know 
what he is talking about. If hie request were granted, Ireland 
would become a province, and descend from being an integral 
part of the em{)ire, into a dependency. Had he ever lived in a 
colony, he would have knoMH the tendencies of such a con- 

" What I desire to see is the ve:y reverse. Now that steam 
has united the two continents of £urope and America, in such 
a manner that you can travel from Nova Scotia to England in 
as short a time as it once required to go from Dublin to Lon- 
don, I should hope for a united legislature. Recollect that the 
<iistance from New Orleans to the head of the Missisippi River 
is greater than from Halifax, N.S., to Liverpool, 6.B. I do 
not want to see colonists and Englishmen arrayed against each 
other, as different races, but united as one people, having the 
same rights and privileges, each bearing a share of the public 
burdens, and all having a voice in the general government. 

" The love of distinction is natural to man. Three millions 
of people cannot be shut up in a colony. They will either turn 
on each other, or unite against their keepers. The road that 
leads to retirement in the provinces should be open to those 
whom the hope of distinction invites to return and contend fur 
the honours of the empire. At present the egress is practically 

; "If you was to talk for ever, Minister," said Mr. Slick, 
** you couldn't say more than the Prince de Joinville's boss on 
that subject.*' 

The interruption was very annoying ; for no man I ever met, 
£0 thoroughly understands the Subject of colonial goverment 






' '1 


[■ m 

■ v 



as Mr. Hopewell. His experience is greater than that of any 
man now living, and his views more enlarged and more philo- 

'* Go on, Sam," said he, with great good humour. " Let us 
hear what the Prince's horse said." 

" Well," said Mr. Slick, '* I don't jist exactly mean to say 
he spoke, as Balaam's donkey did, in good English or French 
nother ; but he did that that spoke a whole book, with a hand- 
sum wood-cut to the fore, and that's a fact. 

" About two years ago, one mortal brilin' hot day, as I was 
a pokin' along the road from Halifax to Windsor, with Old 
Clay in the waggon, with ray coat off, a ridin' in my shirt- 
sleeves, and a thinkin* how slick a mint-julep would travel 
down red-lane, if I had it, I heard such a chatterin' and 
laughin', and screamin' as I never a'most heerd afore, since I 
was raised. 

" ' What in natur' is this,' sais I, as I gave Old Clay a crack 
of the whip, to push on. ' There is some critters here I guess, 
that have found a haw haw's nest, with a tee hee's egg in it. 
What's in the wind now ?* Well, a sudden turn of the road 
brought me to where they was, and who should they be but 
French officers from the Prince's ship, travellin' incog, in plain 
clothes. But, Lord bless you, cook a Frenchman any way 
you please, and you can't disguise him. Natur' will out, jn 
spite of all, and the name of a Frencher is written as plain as 
anything in his whiskers, and his hair, and his skin, and his 
coat, and his boots, and his air, and his gait, and in everythin', 
but only let him open his mouth, and the cat's out of the bag 
in no time, ain't it ? They are droll boys, is the French, that's 
a fact. 

" Well, there was four on 'em dismounted, a holdin' of their 
bosses by the bridle, and a standin' near a spring of nice cool 
water ; and there was a fifth, and he was a lay in' down belly 
flounder on the ground, a tryin' to drink out of the runnin* 

" ' Parley vous French,' sais I, ' Mountsheer V At that, 
they sot to, and larfed again more than ever, I thought they 
would have gone into the high strikes, they hee-hawed so. 

" Well, one on 'em, that was a Duke, as I found out arter- 
wards, said, ' O yees, Saar, we spoked English too.' 

" * Lawful heart !' sais I, ' what's the joke V 

* Why,' sais he, * look there, Sare.' And then they larfed 






agin, ready to split ; and sure enough, no sooner had the Lef- 
tenant layed down to drink, than the Prince's hoss kneeled 
down, and put his head jist over his neck, and began to drink 
too. Well, the officer couldn't get up for the hoss, and he 
couldn't keep his face out of the water for the hoss, and he 
couldn't drink for the hoss, and he was almost choked to 
death, and as black in the face as your hat. And the Prince 
and the officers larfed so, they couldn't help him, if they weis 
to die for it. 

" Sais I to myself, ' A joke is a joke, if it tante carried too 
far, but this critter will be strangled, as sure as a gun, if he 
lays here splutterin' this way much longer.' So I jist gives 
the hoss a dab in the mouth, and made him git up ; and then 
sais I, ' Prince,' sais I, for I know'd him by his beard, he had 
one exactly like one of the old saint's heads in an Eyetalian 
pictur, all dressed to a pint, so sais I, • Prince,' and a plaguy 
handsum man he is too, and as full of fun as a kitten, so sais 
I, • Prince,' and what's better, all his officers seemed plaguy 
proud and fond of him too ; so sais I, ' Prince, voilk le con- 
dition of one colonist, which,' sais I, * Prince, means in 
English, that leftenant is jist Hke a colonist.' 

** * Commong,' says he, * how is dat }* 

" ' Why,' sais I, ' Prince, whenever a colonist goes for to 
drink at a spring of the good things in this world (and plaguy 
small springs they have here too), and fairly lays down to it, 
jist as he gets his lips cle\'erly to it, for a swig, there is some 
cussed neck or another, of some confounded Britisher, pops 
right over him, and pins him there. He can't get up, he can't 
back out, and he can't drink, and he is blacked and blued in 
the face, and most choked with the weight.' 

'** What country was you man of ?' said he, for he spoke 
very good for a Frenchman. 

** With that I straightened myself up, and looked dignified, 
for I know'd I had a right to be proud, and no mistake ; sais 
I, * Prince, I am an American citizen.' How them two words 
altered him. P'raps there beant no two words to ditto 'em. 
He looked for all the world like a different man when he seed 
I wasn't a mean onsarcumsised colonist. ' 

" ' Very glad to see you, Mr. Yankee,' said he, ' very glad 
indeed. Shall I have de honour to ride with you a little way 
in your carriage ?' 
. "'As for the matter of that,' sais I, ' Mountsheer Prince, 








the honour is all the other way,' for I can be as civil as any 
man, if he sets out to act pretty and do the thing genteel. " 

*' With that he juinped right in, and then he said somethih* 
in French to the officers ; some order or another, I suppose, 
about comin on and fetchin* his hoss with them. I have beam 
in my time, a good many men speak French, but I never see 
the man yet, that could hold a candle to him. Oh, it was like 
lightnin', jist one long endurin' streak ; it seemed all one 
sentence and one word. It was beautiful, but I couldn't 
onderstand it, it was so everlastin* fast. 

*' Now,' sais he, * set sail.* And off we sot, at the rate of 
sixteen notts an hour. Old Clay pleased him, you may de- 
pend ; he turned round and clapped his hands, and larfed, and 
waved his hat to his officers to come on ; and they whipped, 
and spurred, and galloped, and raced for dear life ; but we 
dropped 'em astam like anything, and he larfed again, heartier 
than ever. There is no people a'most, like to ride so fast as 
sailors ; they crack on, like a house a fire. 

" Well, arter a while, sais he, ' Back topsails,' and I hauled 
up, and he jumped down, and outs with a pocket book, and 
takes a beautiful gold coronation medal. (It was solid gold, 
no pinchback, but the rael yaller stuff, jist fresh from King's 
shop to Paris, where his money is made), and sais he, ' Mr. 
Yankee, will you accept that to remember the Prince de Join- 
ville and his horse by ?' And then he took off his hat and 
made me a bow, and if that warn't a bow, then I never see 
one, that's all. I don't believe mortal man, unless it was a 
Philadelphia nigger, could make such a bow. It was enough 
to sprain his ankle he curled so low. And then off he went 
with a hop, skip, and a jump, sailor fashion, back to meet his 

" Now, Squire, if you see Lord Stanley, tell him that story 
of the Prince de Joinville's horse ; but before you get so far 
as that, pin him by admissions. When you want to get a 
man on the hip, ax him a question or two, and get his answers, 
and then you have him in a corner, he must stand and let you 
put on the bridle. Ha can't help it no how, he can fix it. 

*' Says you, * My Lord'— don't forget his title — every man 
likes the sound of that, it's music to his ears, it's like our 
splendid national air, Yankee Doodle, you never get tired of 
it. * My Lord,' sais you, ' what do you suppose is the reason 
the French keep Algiers V Well, he'll up and say, it's an out- 

I i 



let for the fiery spirits of France, it gives them employment and 
an opportunity to distinguish themselves, and what the climate 
and the inimy spare, become valuable officers. It makes good 
soldiers out of bad subjects. 
i- ,*• • Do you call that good policy?' sais you. 
,, " Well, he's a trump, is Mr. Stanley, at least folks say so ; 
and he'll say right oiF the reel ' onquestionably it is — excel- 
lent policy.' 

" Wiien he says that, you have him bagged, he may flounder 
and spring like a salmon jist caught ; but he can't out of the 
landin' net. You've got him, and no mistake. Sais you, 
* what outlet have you for the colonies ?' 

** Well, he'll scratch his head and stare at that, for a space. 
He'll hum and haw a little to get breath, for he never thought 
of that afore, since he grow'd up ; but he's no fool, I can tell 
you, and he'll out with his mould, run an answer and be ready 
for you in no time. He'll say, ' They don't require none, Sir. 
The have no redundant population. They are an outlet them- 

\ " Sais you, * I wasn't talking of an outlet for population, for 
France or the provinces nother. I was talking of an outlet for 
the clever men, for the onquiet ones, for the fiery spirits.* 

" ' For that, Sir,' he will say, * they have the local patronage.* 

" • Oh I' sais you, *! warn't aware, I beg pardon, I have 
been absent some time, as long as twenty days, or perhaps 
twenty-five, there must have been great changes, since I left.' 

" ' The garrison ?' sais you. 

" ' Is English,* sais he. 

** * The armed ships in the harbour ?' 

" * English.' 

" * The governor and his secretary ?' 


" ' The principal officer of customs and principal part of his 
deputies ?' 

•* * English.' 

•' ' The commissariat and the staiF?' 

*' ' English to a man.' 

" ' The dockyard people ?' • 

" ' English.' 
, " ' The postmaster giniral V 


u t "What, English ?' sais you, and look all surprise, as if you 




iltl 1 

1 . : 1^ 

hi Hi 




I .Hi;' 

i ii? 



' :| 



didn't know. ' I thought he was a colonist, seein' the province 
pays so much for the mails.' 

'• *No,' he'll say, 'not now; we have jist sent an English 
one over, for we find it's a good thing that.' 

*' ' One word more,' sais you, ' and I have done. If your 
Eirmy officers out there, get leave of absence, do you stop their 


" * Do you sarve native colonists the same way ?' 

'• ' No, we stop half their salaries.' 

" * Exactly,' sais you, ' make them feel the difference. 
Always make a nigger feel he is a nigger or he'll get sassy, 
you may depend. As for patronage,' sais you, ' you know as 
well as I do, that all that's not worth havin', is jist left to poor 
colonist. He is an officer of militia, gets no pay and finds his 
own fit out. Like Don Quixote's tailor, he works for nothin, 
and finds thread. Any other little matters of the same kind, 
that nobody wants, and nobody else will take ; if Blue-nose 
makes interest for, and has good luck, he can get as a great 
favour, to conciliate his countrymen. No, Minister,' sais you, 
'* you are a clever man, every body sais you are a brick ; and 
if you ain't, you talk more like one, than any body I huve 
seen this while past. I don't want no office myself, if I did 
p'raps, I wouldn't talk about patronage this way ; but I am 
a colonist, I want to see the colonists remain so. They are 
attached to England, that's a fact, keep them so by making 
them Englishmen. Throw the door wide open ; patronise them ; 
enlist them in the imperial sarvice, allow them a chance to 
contend for honours and let them win them, if they can. If 
they don't it's their own fault, and cuss 'em they ought to be 
kicked, for if they ain't too lazy, there is no mistake in 'em, 
that's a fact. The country will be proud of them, if they go 
a-head. Their language will change then. It will be our 
army, the delighted critters will say, not the English army ; 
our navy, our church, our parliament, our aristocracy, &c., and 
the word English will be left out holus-bolus, and that proud, 
that endearin' word 'lour" will beinsarted. Do this, and you 
will show yourself thirst statesman of modern times. You'll 
rise right up to the top of the pot, you'll go clean over Peel's 
head, as you folks go over ourn, not by jumpin' over him, but 
by takin' him by the neck and squeezin' him down. You 
'mancipated the -'cks, now liberate the colonists and make 



Englishmen of them, and see whether the goneys won't grin 
from ear to ear, and show their teeth, as well as the niggers 
did. Don't let Yankee clockmakers, (you may say that if you 
like, if it will help your argument,) don't let travelliu* Yankee 
clockmakers tell such stories, against your justice and our 
pride as that of the Prince de Joinville and his horse.* " 




*' Here," said Mr. Slick, "is an invitation for you and me, 
and minister to go and visit Sir Littleeared Bighead, down to 
Yorkshire. You can go if you like, and for once, p'raps it's 
worth goin' to see how these chaps first kill time, and then 
how time kills them in turn. Eatin', drinkin', sleepin', growlin*, 
fowlin', and huntin' kills time ; and gout, aperplexy, dispepsy, 
and blue devils kills them. They are like two fightin' dogs, 
one dies of the thrashin' he gets, and t'other dies of the wounds 
he got a killin' of him. Tit for tat; what's sarce for the 
goose, is sarce for the gander. 

" If you Want to go. Minister will go with you ; but hang 
me if I do. The only thing is, it'll puzzle you to get him 
away, if he gets down there. You never see such a crotchical 
old critter in :our life as he is. He flies right off the handle 
for nothin'. !^e goes stray in* away off in the fields and gul- 
lies, a browsin' about with a hammer, crackin* up bits of stones 
like walnuts, or pickin* up old weeds, faded flowers, and what 
not ; and stands starin' at 'em for ever so long, through his 
eye-glass, and keeps ea sayin' to himself, ' Wonderful provision 
of natur !' Airth and seas ! what does he mean ? How long 
would a man live on such provision, I should like to know, as 
them bitter yarbs. 

" Well, tiien, he'll jist as soon set down and jaw away by 
the hour together with a dirty-faced, stuoid little poodle lookin* 
child, as if it was a nice spry little dog ^ was a trainin* of for 
treein' partridges ; or talk poetry with the galls, or corn-law 
with the patriots, or anything. Nothin' comes amiss to him. 

" But what provokes me, is to hear him go blartin' all over 
the country about home scenes, and beautiful landscape, and 
rich vardure. My sakes, the vardure here is so deep, it looks 




like mournin* ; it's actilly dismal. Then there's no water to 
give light to the pictur, and no sun to cheer it ; and the hedges 
are all square ; and the line trees are as stiff as an old gall that 
was once pretty, and ^is grow'n proud on the memory of it. 

** 1 don't like their landscape a bit, there ain't no natur in it. 
Oh ! if you go, take him along with you, for he will put you 
in consait of all you see, except reform, dissent, and things o' 
that kind ; for he is an out and out old Tory, and thinks 
nothin' can be changed here for the better, except them that 
don't agree with him. 

*• He was a wamin' you t'other day not to take all I said for 
Gospel about society here; but you'll see who's right and 
who's wrong afore you've done, I know. I described to you, 
when you returned from Germany, Dinin' out to London. 
Now I'll give you my opinion of * Li/', in the Country.' And 
fust of all, as I was a sayin', there is no such thing as natur' 
here. Everything is artificial ; everything of its kind alike ; 
and every thing oninterestin' and tiresome. 

** Well, if London is dull, in the way of West Eend people, 
the country, I guess, is a little mucher. Life in the country 
is different, of course, from life in town ; but il life itself is 
alike there, exceptin' again class difference. 1 iiat is, nobility 
is all alike, as far as their order goes ; and country gents is 
alike, as far as their class goes ; and the last especially, when 
they hante travelled none, everlastin* Hat, in their own way. 
Take a lord, now, and visit him to his country seat, and I'll 
tell you what you will find — a sort of Washington State house 
place. It is either a rail old castle of the genuine kind, or 
a gingerbread crinkum crankum imitation of a thing that 
only existed in fancy, but never was seen afore — a thing that's 
made modem for use, and in ancient stile for shew ; or else it's 
a great cold, formal, slice of a London terrace, stuck on a hill 
in a wood. 

" Well, there is lawn, park, artificial pond called a lake, 
deer that's fashionablized and civilized, and as little natur in 
'em as the humans have. Kennel and hounds for parsicutin' 
foxes — presarves (not what we call presarves, quinces and 
apple sarce, and greengages done in sugar, but presarves for 
breedin' tame partridges and pheasants to shoot at), H'aviaries, 
Hive-eries, H'yew-veries, Hot Houses, and so on ; for they 
put an II before every word do these critters, and then tell us 
Yankee we don't speak English. 
" Well, when you have seen an old and a new house of 




these folks, you have seen all. Featurs differ a little, but face 
of all is so alike, that though p'raps you wouldn't mistake one 
for another, yet you'd say they was all of one family. The king 
is their father. 

" Now it may seem kinder odd to you, and I do suppose it 
will, but what little nature there is to England is among these 
upper crust nobility. Extremes meet. The most elegant 
critter in America is an Indgian chief. The most elegant one 
in England is a noble. There is natur in both. You will 
vow that's a crotchet of mine, but it's a fact ; and I will tell 
you how it is, some other time. For I opine the most 
charmin'j most nateral, least artificial, kindest, and conde- 
scendenest people here are rael nobles. Younger children are 
the devil, half rank makes 'em proud, and entire poverty makes 
'em sour. Strap pride on an empty puss, and it puts a most 
beautiful edge on, it cuts like a razor. They have to assart 
their dignity, tother one's dignity don't want no assartin*. It 
speaks for itself. 

" I won't enter into particulars now. I want to ehew you 
country life ; because if you don't want to hang yourself don't 
tarry there, that's all ; go and look at 'em, but don't stay 
there. If you can't help it no how, you can fix it, do it in 
three days ; one to come, one to see, and one to go. If you 
do that, and make the fust late, and the last airly, you'll get 
through it ; for it won't only make a day and a half, when 
sumtotalized. We'll fancy it, that's better than the rael 
thing, any time. 

" So lets go to a country gentleman's house, or ' landed,' 
as they call *em, cause they are so infamally heavy. Well, 
his house is either an old onconvenient up and down, crooked- 
laned, bad lighted, bed warmed, and shockin' cut up in small 
rooms, or a spic and span formal, new one, havin' all or 
most, according to his puss, of those things, about lord's 
houses, only on a smaller scale. 

•• Well, I'll arrive in time for dinner, I'll titivate myself up, 
and down to drawin'-room, and whose the company that's to 
dine there ? Why, cuss 'em, half a dozen of these gents own 
the country for miles round, so they have to keep some com- 
pany at the house, and the rest is neighbours. 

" Now for goodness gracious sake, jist let's see who they 
be ! Why one or two poor parsons, that have nothin' new in 
'em, and nothin' new on 'em, goodish sort people too, only they 






1 ID'S 









larf a leetle, jist a leetle louder at host's jokes, than at mine, 
at least, I suspicion it, 'cause I never could see nothin' to larf 
at in his jokes. One or two country nobs of brother landed 
gents, that look as big as if the whole of the three per cent 
consols was in their breeches pockets ; one or two damsels, 
that was young once, but have confessed to bein' old maids, 
drop't the word * Miss,' 'cause it sounded ridikilous, and took 
the title of * Mrs.' to look like widders. Two or three wive- 
women of the Chinese stock, a bustin' of their stays off a'most, 
and as fat as show-beef; an oldest son or two, with the eend 
of the silver spoon he was born with, a peepin' out o' the 
comer of his mouth, and his face as vacant as a horn lantern 
without a candle in it ; a younger son or so jist from college, 
who looks as if he had an idea he'd have to aim his livin', and 
whose lantern face look as if it had had a candle in it, that 
had e'en amost burnt the sides out, rather thin and palC; with 
streaks of Latin and Greek in it ; one or two everlastin' pretty 
young galls, so pretty as there is nothin' to do, you can't 
hardly help bein' spooney on 'em. 

•• Matchless galls, thev be too, for there is no matches for 
'em. The primur-genitur boy takes all, so they have no 
fortin. Well, a younger son won't do for 'em, for he has no 
fortin, and t'other primo geno there, couldn't if he would, for 
he wants the estate next to hisn, and has to take the gall than 
owns it, or he won't get it. I pity them galls, I do upon ray 
soul. It's a hard fate, that, as Minister sais, in his pretty 
talk, to bud, unfold, bloom, wither, and die on the parent 
stock, and have no one to pluck the rose, and put it in his 
bosom, ain't it } 

" Dinner is raady, and you lock and lock, and march off two 
and two, to t'other room, and feed. Well, the dinner is like 
town dinner, there aint much difference, there is some ; there 
is a difference atween a country coat, and a London coat ; but 
still they look alike, and me intended to be as near the same 
as they can. The appetite is better than town folks, and there 
is more eatin' and less talkin', but the talkin', like the eatin', 
is heavy and solemcoloy. 

•• Now do, Mr. Poker, that's a good soul, now do. Squire, 
look at the sarvants. Do you hear that feller, a blowin' and a 
wheesin' like a boss that's got the heaves ? Well, he is so fat 
and lazy, and murders beef and beer so, he has got the assmy, 
and walkin' puts him out o' breath — aint it beautiful ! Faith- 



ful old sarvant that, so attached to the famil/ ! which means 
the family prog. Always to home ! which means he is always 
eatin' and drinkin'. and hante time to go out. So respectful! 
which means bowin' is an everlastin' sight easier, and safer 
too, nor talkin' is. So honest ! which means, parquisites covers 
all he takes. Keeps every thin' in such good order ! which 
means he makes the women do his work. Puts everythin' in 
it's place, he is so methodical I which means, there is no young 
children in the house, and old aunty always puts things back 
where she takes 'em from. For she is a good bit of stuff is 
aunty, as thin, tough, and soople as a painter's palate knife. 
Oh, Lord ! how I would like to lick him with a bran new cow 
hide whip, round and round the park, every day, an hour afore 
breakfast, to improve his wind, and teach him how to mend 
his pace. I'd repair his old bellowses for him, I know. 

" Then look at the butler, how he tordles like a Terrapin ; 
he has got the gout, that feller, and no wonder, nother. Every 
decanter that comes in has jist half a bottle in it, the rest goes 
in tastin', to see it aint corked. His character would suffer if 
a bit o' cork floated in it. Every other bottle is corked, so he 
drinks that bottle, and opens another, and gives master half of 
it. The housekeeper pets him, calls him Mr., asks him if he 
has heard from Sir Philip lately, hintin' that he is of gentle 
blood, only the wrong side of the blanket, and that pleases 
him. They are both well to do in the world. Vails count up 
in time, and they talk big sometimes, when alone together, and 
hint at warnin' off the old knight, raarryin', and settin' up a 
tripe shop, some o' these days ; don't that hint about wedlock 
bring him a nice little hot supper that night, and don't that 
little supper bring her a tumbler of nice mulled wine, and don't 
both on 'em look as knowin' as a boiled codfish, and a shelled 
oyster, that's all. 

" He once got warned himself, did old Thomas, so said he, 
' Where do you intend to go, master ?' ' Me,' said the old 
man, scratchin' his head, and lookin' puzzled, ' nowhere.' 
' Oh, I thought yoM intend to leave,' said Thomas, ' for / don't.* 
' Very good that, Thomas, come I like that.' The old knight's 
got an anecdote by that, and nanny-goats aint picked up every 
day in the country. He tells that to every stranger, every 
stranger larfs, and the two parsons larf, and the old ' Sir' larfs 
so, he wakes up an old sleepin' cough that most breaks his 
ribs, and Thomas is set up for a character. 










t ■ 



" Well, arter sarvants is gone, and women folks made them- 
selves scarce, we haul up closer to the tabic, have more room 
for legs, and then comes the most interestin' part. Poor rates, 
quarter sessions, turnpikes, corn-laws, next assizes, rail-rouds 
and parish matters, with a touch of the horse and dog between 
primo and secondo genitur, for variety. If politics turn up. 
you can read who host is in a gineral way with half an eye. 
If he is an ante-corn-lawer, then he is a manufacturer that 
wants to grind the poor instead of grain. He is a new man and 
reformer. If he goes up to the bob for corn-law, then he 
wants to live and let live, is of an old family, and a tory. 
Talk of test oaths bein* done away with, why Lord love you, 
they are in full force here yet. See what a feller swears by — 
that's his test, and no mistake. 

" Well, you wouldn't guess now there was so much to talk 
of, would you ? But hear 'em over and over every day, the 
same everlastin' round, and you would think the topics not so 
many arter all, I can tell you It soon runs out, and when it 
does, you must wait till the next rain, for another freshet to 
float these heavy logs on. 

" Coffee comes, and then it's up and jine the ladies. Well, 
then talk is tried agin, but it's no go ; they can't come it, and 
one of the good-natured fat old lady-birds goes to the piany, 
and sits on the music stool. Oh, Hedges ! how it creaks, but 
it's good stuff, I guess, it will carry double this hitch ; and she 
sings, ' I wish I was a butterfly.' Heavens and airth ! the fust 
time I heard one of these hugeaceous critters come out with 
that queer idee, I thought I should a dropt right off of the otter- 
man on the floor, and rolled over and over a-laughin', it tickled 
me so, it makes me larf now only to think- of it. Well, the 
wings don't come, such big butterflies have to grub it in spite 
of Old Nick, and after wishin' and wishin' ever so long in vain, 
one of the young galls sits down and sings in rael right down 
aimest, ' I won't be a nun.' Poor critter ! there is some sense 
in that, but I guess she will be bleeged to be, for all that. 

" Now eatin* is done, talkin' is done, and singin' is done ; 
so here is chamber candles, and off to bed, that is if you 
are a stayin' there. If you ain't, ' Mr. Weather Mutton'is 
carriage is ready. Sir.' and Mr. Weather Mutton, and 
Mrs. W^eather Mutton and the entire stranger get in, and 
when you do, you are in for it, I can tell you. You are in for 
a seven mile heat at least of cross country roads, axle tree deep. 



rain pourin' straight up and down like Niagara, high hedges, 
deep ditches full of water, dark as Egypt ; ain't room to pa8«i 
nothin' if you meet it, and don't feel jist altogether easy about 
them cussed alligators and navigators, critters that work on 
rail-roads all day, and on houses and travellers by night. 

" If you come with Mr. Weather Mutton, you seed the car- 
riage in course. It's an old one, a family one, and as heavy 
as an ox-cart. The bosses are old, family bosses, everlastin' 
fat, almighty lazy, and the way they travel is a caution to a 
snail. It's vulgar to go fast, it's only butcher's bosses trot 
quick, and besides, there is no hurry — there is nothin' to do 
to home. Aifectionate couple ! happy inan ! he takes his 

wife's band in his kisses it ? No, not he, but he puts his 

head back in the corner of the carriage, and goes to sleep, and 
dreams of her? Not be inde- d, but of a 8a< die of mut- 
ton and curren' jelly. 

•*Well, if you are a stoppin' at Sir Tiittheared Bighead's, 
you escape the flight by night, and go to bed and thir>!: of 
home and natur'. Next mornin', or rather next n >on, down 
to breakfast. Oh, it's awfully stupid ! That ,?^^v !i.d nap in 
the mornin' always fuddles the head, and makes ii as motbery 
as ryled cyder grounds. Nobody looks .^ jweet as su^^i/.r- 
candy quite, except them two beautiful g ills and their honey 
lips. But them is only to look at. If you want honey, there 
is some on a little cut glass, dug out of a dish. But you can't 
eat it, for lookin' at the genuine, at least I can't, and never 
could. I don't know what you can do. 

" P'raps you'd like to look at thp picturs, it will sarve to 
pass away time. They are family ones. And family picturs 
sarve as a history. Our Mexican Indgians did all their his- 
tory in picturs. Let's go the round of the room. Lawful 
heart ! what a big ' Brown ox' that is. Old ' Star and Gar- 
ters ;' father fatted him. He v/as a prize ox ; he eat a thou- 
sand bushel of turnips, a thcr. h'..:1 pound of oil cake, a thou- 
sand of hay, and a thousand weight of mangel wurzel, and 
took a thousand days to fat, and weighed ever so many thou- 
sands too. I don't belii've it, but I don't say so, out of 
manners, for I'll take n ;y oath he was fatted on porter, because 
he looks exactly like the footman on all fours. He is a walking 
' Brown Stout' that feller. 

" There is a hunter, come, I like bosses ; but this brute was 

L 2 

, t.'Hi 


THE attache; 

I ' 

painted when at grass, and is too fat to look well, guess he 
was a goodish hoss in his day though. He ain't a bad cut, 
that's a fact. 

" Hullo ! what's this pictur ? Why, this is from our side 
of the water, as 1 am a livin* sinner, this is a New- Found- 
lander, this dog ; yes, and he is of the true genuwine breed 
too, look at his broad forehead — his dew- claws — his little ears; 
(Sir Littleeared must have been named arter him), his long 
hair — his beautiful eye. He is a first chop article that ; but, 
oh Lord, he is too shockir^' fat altogether. He is like Mother 
Gary's chickens, they are all fat and feathers. A wick run 
through 'em makes a candle. This critter is all hair and 
blubber ; if he goes too near the grate, he'll catch into a blaze 
and set fire to the house. 

"There's our friend the host, with cap and gold tassel on, 
ridin' on his b£K:k, and there's his younger brother (that died 
to Cambridge from settin' up all night for his degree, and 
suppin' on dry mathematics, and swallerin' ' Newton' whole), 
younger brother like, walkin' on foot, and leadin' the dog by 
the head, while the heir is a scoldin' him for not goin' faster. 

" Then, there is an old aunty that a forten come from. 
She looks like a bale o' cotton, fust screwed as tight as pos- 
sible, and then corded hard. Lord, if they had only given her 
a pinch of snufiP, when she was full dressed and trussed, and 
sot her a sneezin', she'd a blowed up, and the fortin would 
have come twenty years sooner. 

*' Yes, it's a family pictur, indeed, they are all family 
picturs. They are all fine animals, but over fed and under 

" Now it*s up and take a turn in the gardens. There is 
some splendid flowers on that slope. You and the galls go to 
look at 'em, and jist as you get there, the grass is juicy from 
the everlastin' rain, and awful slippy ; up go your heels, and 
down goes stranger on the broad of his back, slippin' and 
slidin' and coastin' right down the bank, slap over the light 
mud-earth bed, and crushin' the flowers as flat as a pancake, 
and you yaller ochered all over, clean away from the scruff of 
your neck, down to the tip eend of your heel. The galls larf, 
and the bed-room maid larfs ; and who the plague can blame 
them? Old Marm don't larf though, because she is too per- 
lite, and besides, she's lost her flowers, and that's no larfin' 




matter ; and you dun't larf. 'cause you feel a little the nastiest 
you ever did, and jist as near like a fool as to be taken for 
one, in the dark, that's a fact. 

*• Well, you renew the outer man, and try it agin, and it's 
look at the stable and hosses with Sir Host, and the dogs, and 
the carriages, and two American trees, and a peacock, and a 
guinea hen, and a gold pheasant, and a silver pheasant, and 
all that, and then lunch. Who the plague can eat lunch, that's 
only jist breakfasted 7 

*' So away goes lunch, and off goes you and the ' Sir,* a 
trampousin' and a trapsein' over the wet grass agin (I should 
like to know what ain't wet in this country), and ploughed 
fields, and wide ditches chock full of dirty water, if you slip 
in, to souse you most ridikelous ; and over gates that's nailed 
up, and stiles that's got no steps for fear of thoroughfare, and 
through underwood that's loaded with rain-drops, away off to 
tother eend of the estate, to see the most beautiful field of 
turnips that ever was seen, only the flies eat all the plants up ; 
and then back by another path, that's slumpier than t'other, 
and twice as long, that you may see an old wall virith two 
broke-out winders, all covered with ivy, which is called a ruin. 
And well named it is, too, for I tore a bran new pair of 
trousers, mostonhandsum. ascramblin' over the fences to see it, 
and ruined a pair of shoes that was all squcushed out of shape 
by the wet and mud. 

" Well, arter all this day of pleasure, it is time to rig up in . 
your go-to-meetin' clothes for dinner ; and that is the same 
as yesterday, only stupider, if that's possible; and that is 
Life in the Country. 

" How the plague can it be otherwise than dull ? If there 
is nothin' to see, there can't be nothin' to talk about. Now 
tjie town is full of things to see. There is Babbage's 
machine, and Bank Governor's machine, and the Yankee 
woman's machine, and the flyin' machine, and all sorts of 
machines, and galleries, and tunnels, and mesmerisers, and 
theatres, and flower-shows, and cnttle-shows, and beast-shows, 
and every kind of show ; and wliat's better nor all, beautiful 
got-up women, and men turned out in fust chop style, too. 

" I don't mean to say country women ain't handsum here, 
*cause they be. There is no sun here; and how in natur' can it be 
otherways than that they have good complexions. But it tante 
safe to be caged with them in a house out o' town. Fust thing 





you both do, is to get spooney, makin* eyes and company-faces at 
each other, and then think of matin', like a pair of doves, and that 
won't answer for the like of you and me. The fact is, Squire, 
if you want to see women, you musn't go to a house in the 
country, nor to mere good company in town for it, tho' there 
be first chop articles in both ; but you must go among the big 
bugs the top-lofty nobility, in London ; for since the days of 
old marm Eve, down to this instant present time, I don't 
think there ever was or ever will be such splendiferous galls 
as is there. Lord, the fust time I seed 'em it put me in mind 
of what had happened to me at New Brunswick once. Go- 
vernor of Maine sent me over to their Governor's, ofiicial-like, 
with a state letter, and the British officers axed me to dine 
to their mess. Well, the English brags so like niggers, I 
thought I'd prove 'em, and set 'em oif on their old trade jist 
for fun. So, says I, stranger captain, sais I, is all these forks 
and spoons, and plates and covers, and urns, and what nots, 
rael gemxwine solid silver, the clear thing, and no mistake. 
' Sartainly,' said he, * we have nothin' but silver here.* He 
did, upon my soul, just as cool, as if it was all true ; well 
you can't tell a military what he sais ain't credible, or you 
have to fight him. It's considered ongenteel, so I jist 
puts my finger on my nose, and winks, as much as to say, 
' I ain't such a cussed fool as you take me to be, I can tell you.' " 
" When he seed IM found him out, he larfed like anything. 
Guess he found that was no go, for I wam't born in the woods 
to be scared by an owl, that's a fact. Well, the fust time I 
went to lord's party, I thought it was another brag agin ; I 
never see nothin' like it. Heavens and airth, I most jumpt 
out o' my skin. Where onder the sun, sais I to myself, did 
he rake and scrape together such super-superior galls as these. 
This party is a land o' consarvitory, he has got all the raree 
plants and sweetest roses in England here, and must have 
ransacked the whole country for 'em. Knowin* I was a judge 
of woman kind, he wants me to think they are all this way ; 
it's onpossible. They are only * show frigates" arter all ; it 
dci't stand to reason, they can't be all clippers. He can't 
put the leake into me that way, so it tante no use try in'. 
Well, the next time, I seed jist such another covey of par- 
tridges, same plumage, same step, and same breed. Well 
done, sais I, they are intarmed to pull the wool over my eyes, 
that's a feet, but they won't find that no easy matter, I know. 



Guess they must be done now, they can't show another pre- 
sarve like them agin in all Britain. What trouble they do 
take to brag here don't they ? Well, to make a long story 
sho'-t ; how do you chink it eventuated. Squire ? Why every 
parW 1 went to, had as grand a show as them, only some on 
'em was better, fact I assure you, it's gospel truth ; there 
ain't a word of a lie in it, text to the letter. I never see 
nothin* like it, since I was raised, nor dreamed nothin' like it, 
and what's more, I don't think the world has nothin' like it 
nother. It beats all natur. It takes the rag off quite. If 
that old Turk, Mahomed, had seed these galls, he wouldn't 
a bragged about his beautiful ones in paradise so everlastinly, 
I know ; for these English heifers would have beat 'em all 
holler, that's a fact. For my part, I call myself a judge. I 
have an eye there ain't no deceivin'. I have made it a study, 
and know every pint about a woman, as well as I do about a 
boss ; therefore, if I say so, it must be so, and no mistake. 
I make all allowances for the gear, and the gettin' up, and the 
vampin', and all that sort o' flash ; but toggery won't make 
an ugly gall handsum, nohow you can fix it. It may lower 
her ugliness a leetle, but it won't raise her beauty, if she 
han'i-c got none. But I warn't a talkin' of nobility ; I was a 
talkin' of Life in the Country. But the wust of it is, when 
galls come on the carpet, I could talk all day ; for the dear 
little critters, I do love 'em, that's a fact. Lick ! it sets me 
crazy a'most. Well, where was we? for petticoats always 
puts everything out o' my head. Whereabouts was we?" 

" You were saying that there were more things to be seen 
in London than in the country." 

'* Exactly; now I have it. I've got the thread agin. So 
there is. 

" There's England's Queen, and England's Prince, and 
Hanover's King, and the old Swordbelt that whopped Bony ; 
and he is better worth seein' than any man now livin' on the 
face of the univarsal airth, let t'other one be where he will, 
that's a fact. He is a great man, all through the piece, 
and no mistake. If there was — what do you call that word, 
when one man's breath pops into 'nother man's body, changin' 
lodgins, like ?" 

" Do you mean transmigration ?" 

"Yes ; if there was such a thing as that, I should say it was 
old Liveoak himself, Mr. Washington, that was transmigrated 
into him, and that's no mean thing to say of him, I tell you. 

i' ■ 

'' s 



i I :. 


THE attache; 

'* Well, now, there's none o' these things to the country ; 
and it's so everlastin' stupid, it's only a Britisher and a nigger 
that could live in an English country-house. A nigger don't 
like movin', and it would jist suit him, if it warn't so awful 
wet and cold. 

Oh if I was President of these here United States, 

I'd suck sugar-candy and swing upon db gates ; 

And them I didn't like, I'd strike 'era offde docket. 

And the way we'd go ahead, would be akin to Davy Crockit. 
With my zippy dooden, dooden dooden, dooden doodeu dey, 
With my zippy dooden, dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey. 

I '¥. 

" It might do for a nigger, suckin' sugar candy and drinkin* 
mint-julep ; but it won't do for a free and enlightened citizen 
like me. A country-house — oh goody gracious! the Lord 
presarve me from it, I say. If ever any soul ever catches me 
there agin, I'll give *em leave to tell me of it, that's all. Oh 
go. Squire, by all means ; you will find it monstrous pleasant, 
I know you will. Go and spend a week there ; it will make 
you feel up in the stirrups, I know. P'raps nothin' can exceed 
it. It takes the rag off the bush quite. It caps all, that's a 
fact, does * Life in the Country.* " 



I AM not surprised at the views expressed by Mr. Slick in 
the previous chapter. He has led too active a life, and his 
habits and thoughts are too business-like to admit of his enjoy- 
ing retirement, or accommodating himself to the formrtl re- 
straints of polished society. And yet, after making this allow- 
ance for his erratic life, it is but fair to add that his descrip- 
tions were always exaggerated ; and, wearied as he no doubt 
was by the uniformity of country life, yet in describing it, he 
has evidently seized on the most striking features, and made 
them more prominent than they really appeared, even to his 
fatigued and prejudiced vision. 

In other respects, they are just the sentiment we may sup- 







pose would be naturally entertained by a manlike the Attache, 
under such circumstances. On the evening after that on 
which he had described **Life in the Country" to me, he 
called with two "orders** for admission to the House of Com- 
mons, and took me down with him to hear the debates. 

"It's a great sight," said he. "We shall see all their 
uppercrust men put their best foot out. There's a great 
musterin' of the tribes, to-night, and the Sachems will come 
out with a great talk. There'll be some sport, I guess ; some 
hard hittin', scalpin', and tomahawkin*. To see a Britisher 
scalp a Britisher is equal to a bull-fight, any time. You don't 
keer whether the bull, or the horse, or the rider is killed, none 
of 'em is nothir.' to you ; so you can enjoy it, and hurror for 
him that wins. I don't keer who carries the day, the valy of 
a treat of julep, but I want to see the sport. It's excitin', them 
things. Come, let's go." 

We were shown into a small gallery, at one end of the 
legislative wall (the two side ones being appropriated to mem- 
bers), and with some difficulty found sitting room in a place 
that commanded a view of the whole house. We were unfor- 
tunate. All the great speakers, Lord Stanley, Sir Robert 
Peel, Sir James Graham, Shiel, and Lord John Russell, had 
either already addressed the Chair, and were thereby precluded 
by the rules of the House from coming forward again, or did 
not choose to answer second-rate men. Those whom we did 
hear, made a most wretched exhibition. About one o'clock, 
the adjournment took place, and we returned, fatigued and 

" Did you ever see the beat of that Squire ?" said Mr. Slick. 
" Don't that take the rag off quite ? Cuss them fellers that 
spoke, they are wuss than assembly men, hang me if they 
aint ; and they aint fit to tend a bear trap, for they'd sure be to 
catch themselves, if they did, in their own pit-fall. 

"Did you hear that Irishman a latherin' away with both 
arms, as if he was tryin' to thrash out wheat, and see how 
bothered he looked, as if he couldn't find nothin' but dust and 
chaff in the straw ? Well, that critter was agin the Bill, in 
course, and Irish like, used every argument in favour of it. 
Like a pig swimmin* agin stream, every time he struck out, he 
was a cuttin* of his own throat. He then blob blob blobbered, 
and gog gog goggled, till he choked with words and passion, 
and then sot down. 

I >' 

<' ( 



" Then that English Radical feller, that spoke with great 
voice, and little sense. Aint he a beauty, without paint, that 
critter ? He know'd he had to vote agin the Bill, 'cause it 
was a Government Bill, and he know'd he had to speak for 
Bunkum f and therefore — " 

** Bunkum!" I said, "pray, what is that?" 
■■ •* Did you never hear of Bunkum ?" 

*• No, never." 

" Why, you don't mean to say you don't know what that 

" I do not indeed." 

" Not Bunkum ? Why, there is more of it to Nova Scotia 
every winter, than would paper every room in Government 
House, and then curl the hair of every gall in the town. Not 
heer of Bunkum ? why how you talk !" 

*' No, never." 

•' Well, if that don't pass ! • I thought every body know'd 
that word. I'll tell you then, what Bunkum is. All over 
America, every place likes to hear of its members to Congress, 
and see their speeches, and if they don't, they send a piece to 
the paper, enquirin' if their member died a nateral death, or 
was skivered with a bowie knife, for they hante seen his 
speeches lately, and his friends are anxious to know his fate. 
Our free and enlightened citizens don't approbate silent mem- 
bers ; it don't seem to them as if Squashville, or Punkinville, 
or Lumbertown was right represented, unless Squashville or 
Punkinville, or Lumbertown, makes itself heard and known, 
ay, and feared too. So every feller in bounden duty, talks, 
and talks big too, and the smaller the State, the louder, bigger, 
and fiercer its members talk. 

" Well, when a critter talks for talk sake, jist to have a 
speech in the paper to send to home, and not for any other 
airthly puppus but electioneering, our folks call it Bunkum. 
Now the State o' Maine is a great place for Bunkum — its 
members for years threatened to run foul of England, with all 
steam on, and sink her, about the boundary line, voted a million 
of dollars, payable in pine logs and spruce boards, up to Bangor 
mills — and called out a hundred thousand militia (only they 
never come), to captur' a saw mill to New Brunswick — that's 
Bunkum, All that flourish about right o' Sarch was Bunkum 
— all that brag about hangin' your Canada sheriff was Bunkum. 
All the speeches about the Caroline, and Creole, and Right of 



Sarch, was Bunkum. In short, almost all that's said t» Coti' 
gress in the colonies (for we set the fashions to them, as Paris 
galls do to our milliners), and all over America is Bunkum. 

" Well, they talk Bunkum here too, as well as there. 
Slavery speeches are all Bunkum ; so are reform speeches, 
too. Do you think them fellers that keep up such an ever- 
lastin' gab about representation, care one cent about the exten- 
sion of franchise ? Why no, not they ; it's only to secure 
their seats to gull their constituents, to get a name. Do you 
think them goneys that make such a touss about the Arms' 
Bill, care about the Irish ? No, not they ; they wan't Irish 
votes, that's all — it's Bunkum. Do you jist go and mesmerise 
Jphn Russell, and Macauley, and the other officers of the 
regiment of Reformers, and then take the awkward squad of 
recruits — fellers that were made drunk with excitement, and 
then enhsted with the promise of a shillin,' which they never 
got, the sargeants having drank it all ; go and mesmerise them 
all, from General Russell down to Private Chartist, clap *em 
into a caterwauiin' or oatalapsin' sleep, or whatever the word 
is, and make 'em tell che secrets of their hearts, as Dupotet 
did the Clear-voyancing gall, and jist hear what they'll tell you. 

*' Lord John will say — * I was sincere !' (and I believe on 
my soul he was. He is wrong beyond all doubt, but he is an 
honest man. and a clever man, and if he had taken his ovm 
way more, and given Powlet Thompson his less, he would a' 
been a great colony secretary ; and more's the pity he is in 
such company. He'll get off his beam ends, and right him^ 
self though, yet, I guess). Well, he'd say — ' I was sincere, I 
was disinterested ; but I am disappointed. I have awakened 
a pack of hungry villains who have sharp teeth, long claws, 
and the appetite of the devil. They have swallered all I gave 
'em, and now would eat me up without salt, if they could. 
Oh, that I could hark back ! tksre is no satisfyin* a movement 

" Now what do the men say (I don't mean men of rank, but 
the men in the ranks), — * Where's all the fine things we were 
promised when Reform gained the day ?' sais they, * ay, where 
are they ? for we are wuss off than ever, now, havin' lost all 
our old friends, and got bilked by our new ones tarnationly. 
What did all their fine speeches end in at last ? Bunkum ; 
damn the thing cut Bunkum. 

" But that aint the wust of it, nother. Bunkum, like lyin*, 

1 1 






II ;f 



is plaguy apt to make a man believe his own bams at last. 
From telling 'em so often, he forgets whether he grow'd 'em 
or dreamt 'em, and so he stands right up on eend, kisses the 
book, and swears to 'em, as positive as the Irishman did to the 
gun, which he said he know'd ever since it was a pistol. 
Now that*s Bunkum. 

" But to get back to what we was a talkin' of, did you ever 
hear such bad speakin' in your life, now tell me candid ? be- 
cause if you have, I never did, that's all. Both sides was bad, 
it aint easy to say which is wus, six of one and half a dozen of 
t'other, nothin to brag of nary way. That government man, 
« that spoke in their favour, wam't his speech rich ? 

" Lord love you ! I aint no speaker, I never made but one 
speech since I was raised, and that was afore a Slickville 
legislator, and then I broke down. I know'd who I was a 
talkin' afore ; they was men that had cut their eye-teeth, and 
that you couldn't pull the wool over their eyes, nohow you 
could fix it, and I was young then. Now I'm growed up, I 
guess, and I've got my narves in the right place, and as 
taught as a drum ; and I could speak if I was in the House 
o' Commons, that's a fact. If a man was to try there, that 
was worth anythin', he'd find he was a flute without knowin' 
it. They don't onderstand nothin' but Latin and Greek, and 
I'de buoy out them sand banks, keep the lead agoin', stick to 
the channel, and never take ground, I know. The way I'd 
cut water aint no matter. Oh Solomon ! what a field for good 
speakin' that question was to-night, if they only had half an 
eye, them fellers, and what a'most a beautiful mess they ir-'de 
of it on both sides ! 

" I ain't a vain man, and never was. You know, Squire, I 
hante a mossel of it in my composition ; no, if you was to look 
at me with a ship's glass you wouldn't see a grease spot of it 
in me. I don't think any of us Yankees is vain people ; it's 
a thing don't grow in our diggins. We have too much sense 
in a giniral way for that ; indeed if we wanted any, we couldn't 
get none for love nor money, for John Bull has a monopoly 
of it. He won't open the trade. It's a home market he looks 
to, and the best of it is, he thinks he hante none to spare. 

" Oh, John, John Bull, when you are full rigged, with your 
white cravat and white waistcoat like Young England, and 
have got your go-to-meetin' clothes on, if you ain't a sneezer, 
it's a pity, that's all. No, I ain't a vain man, I despise it, as I 




do a nigger ; but, Squire, vrhat a glorious field the subject to- 
night is for a man that knows what's what, and was up to 
snuff, ain't it ? Airth and seas ! if I was there, I could speak 
on either side ; for like Waterloo it's a fair field ; it's good 
ground for both parties. Heavens what a speech I could 
make ! I'd electrify 'em and kill 'em dead like lightnin', and 
then galvanise 'em and fetch 'em to life agin, and then give 
them exhiliratin' gass and set 'em a larfin', till they fairly wet 
themselves agin with cryin*. Wouldn't it be fun, that's all? 
I could sting Peel so if I liked, he'd think a galley nipper had 
bit him, and he'd spring right off the floor on to the table at 
one jump, gout or no gout, ravin' mad with pain and say, 
' I'm bit thro' the boot by Gosh ;' or if I was to take his side, 
for I care so little about the British, all sides is alike to me, I'd 
make them Irish members dance like ravin', distractin' bed 
bugs. I'd make 'em howl, first wicked and then dismal, I 

" But they can't do it, to save their souls alive ; some has 
it in 'em and can't get it out, physic 'em as you would, first 
with vanity, and then with office ; others have got a way out, 
but have nothin' to drive thro' the gate ; some is so timid, 
they can't go ahead ; and others are in such an iiifarnal hurry, 
they spend the whole time in false starts. 

" No, there is no good oratory to parliament now, and the 
English brag so, I doubt if it ever was so good, as they say it 
was in old times. At any rate, it's all got down to ' Bunkum* 
now. It's makin' a speech for newspapers and not for the 
House. It's to tell on voters and not on members. Then, 
what a row they make, don't they ? Hear, hear, hear ; divide, 
divide, divide ; oh, oh, oh ; haw, haw, haw. It tante much 
different from stump oratory in America arter all, or speakin* 
off a whiskey barrel, is it ? It's a sort of divil me-kear-kiud o' 
audience ; independent critters, that look at a feller full in the 
face, as sarcy as the divil ; as much as to say, * Talk away, my 
old 'coon, you won't alter me, I can tell you, it's all Bunkum. 

" Lord, I shall never forget poor old Davy Crocket's last 
speech ; there was no ' bunkum' in that. He despised it ; all 
good shots do, they aim right straight for the mark and hit it. 
There's no shootin' round the ring, with them kinder men. 
Poor old feller, he was a great hunter ; a great shot with the 
rifle, a great wit, and a great man. He didn't leave his span 
behind him, when he slipt off the handle, I know. 










•• Well, he stood for an election and lost it, just a^ire he left 
the States ; so when it was over, he slings his powdv-r-horn on, 
over his shoulders, takes his ' Betsey,' which was his best 
rifle, onder his arm, and mounts on a barrel, to talk it into his 
constituents, and take leave of 'em. 

" ' Feller citizens,' sais he, ' we've had a fair stand-up fight 
for it, and I'm whipped, that are a fact ; and thar is no denyin' 
of it. I've come now to take my leave of you. You may all 
go to H— 11 and I'll go to Texas.' 

•' And he stepped right down, and went over the boundary, 
and jined the patriots agin Mexico, and was killed there. 

" Why it will never be forgot, that speech. It struck into 
the bull's eye of the heart. It was noble. It said so much in 
a few words, and left the mind to fill the gaps up. The last 
words is a say in' now, and always will be, to all etarnity. 
Whenever a feller wants to show how indifferent he is, he jist 
sais, *you may go to (hem, hem, you know,) and I'll go to 
Texas.' There is no Bunkum in that. Squire, 

" Yes, there is no good speakin' there, speakin' is no use. 
Every feller is pledged and supports his party. A speech don't 
alter no man's opinions ; yes it may alter his opinions, but it 
don't alter his vote, that ain't his'n, it's his party's. Still, there 
is some credit in a good speech, and some fun too. No feller 
there has any ridicule ; he has got no ginger in him, he can 
neither crack his whip, nor lay it on ; he can neither cut the 
hide nor sting it. Heavens ! if I was there ! and I'm sure it's 
no great boastin' to say I'm better than such fellers, as them 
small fry of white bait is. If I was there, give me a good sub- 
ject like that to-night, give me a good horn of lignum vitse — " 

"Lignum vitae — what's that ?" 

" Lord-o-massy on us ! you don't know nothin', Squire. 
Where have you been all your born days, not to know what 
lignum vitse is .'' why lignum vitse, is hot brandy and water to 
be sure, pipin' hot, scald an iron pot amost, and spiced with 
cloves and sugar in it, stiff enough to make a tea-spoon stand 
up in it, as straight as a dead nigger. Wine ain't no good, it 
goes off as quick as the white beads off of champaign does, 
and then leaves a stupid head -ache behind it. But give me 
the subject and a horn of lignum vitse (of the wickedest kind) , 
and then let a feller rile me, so as to get my back up like a 
fightin' cat's, and I'll tell you what I'd do, I'd sarve him as 
our Slickville boys sarve the cows to California. One on 'em 



lays hold of the tail, and the other skins her as she runs strait 
an eend. Next year, it's all growed ready for another flayin*. 
Fact, I assure you. Lord ! I'd skin a feller so, his hide would 
never grow agin ; I'd make a caution of him to sinners, I 

" Only hear them fellers now talk of extendin' of the repre- 
sentation ; why the house is a mob now, plaguy little better, 
1 assure you. Like the house in Cromwell's time, they want 
' Sam Slick's' purge. But talkin* of mobs, puts me in mind 
of a Swoi-ree, I told you I'd describe that to you, and I don't 
care if I do now, for I've jist got my talkin' tacks aboard. A 
Swoi-ree is — " 

•• We'll talk of that somi other time, Mr. Slick," said I ; 
" it is now near two o'clock, I must retire." 

" Well, well," said he, " I suppose it is e'en a'most time to 
be a movin'. But, Squire, you are a Britisher, why the plague 
don't you get into the house ? you know more about colony 
matters than the whole bilin' of them put together, quite as 
much about other things, and speak like a " 

" Come, come, Mr. Slick," said I, rising and lighting my 
bed-room candle, " it is now high time to bid you good night, 
for you are beginning to talk Bunkum.** 




Mr. Slick's character, like that of many of his country- 
men, is not so easily understood as a person might suppose. 
We err more often than we are aware of, when we judge of 
others by ourselves. English tourists have all fallen into this 
mistake, in their estimate of the Americans. They judge them 
by their own standard ; they attribute effects to wrong causes, 
forgetting that a different tone of feeling, produced by a dif- 
ferent social and political state from their own, must naturally 
produce dissimilar results. 

Any person reading the last sketch containing the account, 
given by Mr. Slick of the House of Commons, his opinion of 
his own abilities as a speaker, and his aspiration after a 
seat in that body, for the purpose of " skinning," as he 


! !' 

'•it h-i 








THE attachk; 

calls it, impertinent or stupid . imb^rs, could not avoid 
coming to the conclusion thai I>m wnn conceited blockhead ; 
and if his countrymen talked i. ihat absurd manner, they 
must be the weakest, and most vain-glorious people in the 

That he is a vain man, cannot be denied — self-taught men 
are apt to be so everywhere ; but those who understand the 
New England humour, will at once perceive, that he has 
spoken in his own name merely as a personification, and that 
the whole passage means after all, when transposed into that 
phraseology which an Englishman would use, very little more 
than this, that the House of Commons presented a noble field 
for a man of abilities as a public speaker ; but that in fact, it 
contained very few such persons. We must not judge of 
words or phrases, when used by foreigners, by the sense we 
attribute to them, but endeavour to understand the meaning 
they attach to them themselves. 

In Mexico, if you admire anything, the proprietor imme- 
diately says, " Pray do me the honour to consider it yours, I 
shall be most happy, if you will permit me, to place it upon 
you (if it be an ornament), or to send it to your hotel," if it 
be of a different description. All this means in English, a 
present ; in Mexican Spanish, a civil speech, purporting that the 
ownet is gratified, that it meets the approbation of his visiter. 
A Frenchman, who heard this grandiloquent reply to his 
praises of a horse, astonished his friend, by thanking him in 
terms equally amplified, accepting it, and riding it home. 

Mr. Slick would be no less amazed^ if understood literally. 
He has used a peculiar style ; here again, a stranger would be 
in error, in supposing the phraseology common to all Ame< 
cans. It is peculiar only to a certain class of persons in a cer- 
tain state of life, and in a particular section of the States. Of 
this class, Mr. Slick is a specimen. I do not mean to say 
he is not a vain man, but merely that a portion only of that, 
which appears so to us, is vanity, and that the rest and by 
far the greater portion too, is local or provincial peculiarity. 

This explanation is due to the Americans, who have been 
grossly misrepresented, and to the English, who have been 
egregiously deceived, by persons attempting to delineate 
character, who were utterly incapable of perceiving those 
minute lights and shades, without which, a portrait becomes 
a contemptible daub, or at most a mere caricature. 














" A droll scene that at the house o* representatives last nij^ht,'* 
said Mr. Slick when we next met, " warn't it ? A sorto* rookery, 
like that at the Shropshire Squire's, where I spent the juicy day. 
What a darned cau-cau-cawin' they keep, don't they } These 
members are jist like the rooks, too, fond of old houses, old 
woods, old trees, and old hamts. And they are jist as proud, 
too, as they be. Cuss 'era, they won't visit a new man, or new 
plantation. They are too aristocratic for that. They have a 
circle of their own. Like the rooks, too, they are privileged to 
scour over the farmers' fields all round home, and play the very 

" And then a fellow can't hear himself speak for 'em ; divide, 
divide, divide, question, question, question ; cau, can, cau ; cau, 
cau, cau. Oh ! we must go there again. I want you to see Peel, 
Stanley, Graham, Shiel, Russell, Macauley, Old Joe, and so on. 
These men are all u[)per crust here. Fust of all, I want to hear 
your opinion of 'era. I take you to be a considerable of a good 
judge in these matters." 

'• No Bunkum, Mr. Slick." 

" D n that word Bunkum ! If you say that 'ere agin, I 

won't say another syllable, so come now. Don't I know who 
you are ? You know every mite and morsel as well as I do, that 
you be a considerable of a judge of these critters, though you 
are nothin' but an outlandish colonist ; and are an everlastin' 
sight better judge, too, if you come to that, than them that judge 
you. Cuss 'em, the state would be a nation sight better sarved, 
if one o' these old rooks was sent out to try trover for a goose, 
and larceny for an old hat, to Nova Scotia, and you was sent 
for to take the ribbons o' the state coach here ; hang me if it 
wouldn't. You know that, and feel your oats, too, as well as 
any one. So don't be so infarnal mealy-mouthed, with your 
mock modesty face, a turnin' up the whites of your eyes as if 
you was a chokin', and sayin' * No Bun-kum,' Mr. Slick. Cuss 
that word Bunkum ! I am sorry I ever told you that are story, 
you will be for everlastinly a throwin' up of that are, to me now. 

" Do you think if I warnted to soft sawder you. I'd take the 
white-wash brush to you, and slobber it on, as a nigger wench 
does to a board fence, or a kitchen wall to home, and put your 
eyes out with the lime ? No, not I ; but I could tickel you 
though, and have done it afore now, jist for practice, and you 
warn't a bit the wiser. Lord, I'd take a camel's-hair brush to 
you, knowin' how skittish and ticklesome you are, and do it so 




t ' 


I 5 
J i 


it would feel good. I'd make you feel kinder pleasant, I know, 
and you'd jist bend your face over to it, and take it as kindly as 
a gall does a whisper, when your lips keep jist a brushin' of the 
cheek while you are a talkin'. I wouldn't go to shock you by 
a doin* of it coarse ; you are too quick and too knowin' for that. 
You should smell the otter >' roses, and snitF, sniff it up your 
nostrils, and say to yourself, ' How nice that is, aint it ? Come, 
I like that, how sweet it stinks !' I wouldn't go for to dash 
scented water on your face, as a hired lady does suds on a winder 
to wash it, it would make you start back, take out your pocket- 
handkercher, and say, * Come, Mister Slick, no nonsense, if you 
please.' I'd do it delicate, I know my man : I'd use a light 
touch, 3 soft brush, and a smooth ily rouge.** 

" Pardon me," I said, " you overrate your own powers, and over- 
estimate my vanity. You are flattering yourself now, you 
can't flatter me, for I detest it.'* 

*• Creation, man," said Mr. Slick, " I have done it now afore 
your face, these last five minutes, and you didn't know it. Well, 
if that don't bang the bush. It's tarnation all over that. Tellin' 
you, you was so knowin' so shy if touched on the flanks ; how 
difiicult you was to take in, bein' a sensible, knowin' man, 
what's that but soft sawder ? You swallowed it all. You took 
it off without winkin', and opened your mouth as wide as a young 
blind robbin does for another worm, and then down went the Bun- 
kum .about making you a Secretary of State, which was rather a 
large bolus to swaller, without a draft ; down, down it went, like 
a greased- wad through a smooth rifle bore ; it did, upon my soul. 
Heavens ! what a take in ! what a splendid sleight-of-hand ! I 
never did nothin' better in all my bom days. I hope I may be 
shot, if I did. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ain't it rich ? Don't it cut six 
inches on the rib of clear shear, that. Oh ! it's hansttwi, that's a 

" It's no use to talk about it, Mr. Slick," I replied ; '• I plead 
guilty. You took me in then. You touched a weak point. You 
insensibly flattered my vanity, by assenting to my self-sufficiency, 
in supposing I was exempt from that universal frailty of human 
nature ; you ' threio the Lavender' well." 

" I did put the leake into you. Squire, that's a fact," said he ; 
"but let me alone, I know what I am about ; let me talk on, my 
own way. SwfJler what you like, spit out what is too strong for 
you ; but don't put a drag-chain on to me, when I am a doin' tall 
talkin' and set my wheels as fast as pine stumps. Yuo know me, 





and I know you. You know my speed, and I know your bottom 
don't throw back in the breetchin' for nothin' that way. 
;i: " Well, as I was a sayin', I want you to see these great men, 
as they call 'em. Let's weigh 'em, and measure 'em. and handle 
'em, and then price *em, and see what their market valy is. Don't 
consider 'em as Tories, or Whigs, or Radicals ; we hante got 
nothin' to do with none o* them ; but consider 'em as statesmen. 
It's pot-luck with 'em dl ; take your fork as the pot biles up, 
jab it in, and fetch a feller up, see whether he is beef, pork or 
mutton ; partridge, rabbit or lobster ; what his name, grain and 
flavour is, and how you like him. Treat 'em indifferent, and 
treat 'em independent. 

" I don't care a chaw o' tobacky for the whole on 'em ; and 
none on 'em care a pinch o' snuff for you or any Hortentort of a 
colonist that ever was or ever will be. Lord love you I if you 
was to write like Scott, and map the human mind like Bacon, 
would it advance you a bit in prefarment ? Not it. They have 
done enough for the colonists, they have turned 'em upside down, 
and given 'em responsible government ? What more do the 
rascals want ? Do they ask to be made equal to us ? No, look 
at their social system, and their political system, and tell 'em 
your opinion like a man. You have heard enough of their 
opinions of colonies, and suffered enough from their erroneous 
ones too. You have had Durham reports, and commissioners' 
reports, and parliament reports till your stomach refuses any more 
on 'em. And what are they ? a bundle of mistakes and miscon- 
ceptions, from beginnin' to eend. They have travelled by stum- 
bhn', and have measured everything by the length of their knee, 
as they fell on the ground, as a milliner measures lace, by the 
bendin' down of the forefinger — cuss 'em ! Turn the tables on 
'em. Report on them, measure them, but take care to keep your 
feet though, don't be caught trippin', don't make no mistakes. 

"Then we'll go to the Lords' House — I don't mean to a 
meetin' house, though v;e must go there too, and hear Mc Neil 
and Chalmers, and them sort o' cattle ; but I mean the house 
where the nobles meet, pick out the big bugs, and see what 
sort o' stuff they are made of. Let's take minister with us — 
he is a great judge of these things. I should like yo a to hear his 
opinion ; he knows everythin' a'most, though the ways of the 
world bother him a little sometimes ; but for valyin' a man, or 
stating principles, or talkin' politics, there ain't no man equal to 
him hardly. He is a book, that's a fact ; it's all there what you 

M 2 


■ 15 



1 1 



m ! 





THE attache; 

want ; all you've i^ot to do is to cut the leaves. Name the word 
in the index, he'll turn to the page, and give you day, date, and 
fact for it. There is no mistake in him. • ^",-, 

" That cussed provokin' visit of yours to Scotland will stiove 
them things into the next book, I'm afeered. But it don't signify 
nothin' ; you can't cram all into one, and we hante only broke 
the crust yet, and p'rhaps it's as well to look afore you leap too, 
or you might make as big a fool of yourself as some of the Bri- 
tishers have a writin' about us and the provinces. Oh yes, it's a 
great advantage havin' minister with you. He'll fell the big stiff 
trees for you ; and I'm the boy for the saplin's, I've got the 
eye and the stroke for them. They spring so confoundedly under 
the axe, does second growth and underwood, it's dangerous work, 
but I've got the sleight o' hand for that, and we'll make a clean 
field of it. 

" Then come and survey ; take your compass and chain to the 
ground and measure, and lay that off — branch and bark the spars 
for snakin' off the ground ; cord up the fire- wood, tie up the hoop 
poles, and then burn off the trash and rubbish. Do it workman- 
like. Take your time to it as if you was workin' by the day. 
Don't hurry, like job-work ; don't slobber it over, and leave half- 
burnt trees and logs strewed about the surface, but make smack 
smooth work. Do that. Squire, do it well, and that is, only half 
as good as you can, if you choose, and then — " 

" And then," saic" I, " I make no doubt you will have great 
pleasure 'in throwit.' the Lavender again.'' " 





"aiming high. 

" What do you intend to do, Squire, with your two youngest 
boys?" said Mr. Slick to me to-day, as we were walking in the 

" I design them," I said, " for professions. One I shall edu- 
cate for a lawyer, and the other for a clergyman." 

"Where!"' ' -. ' 

" In Nova Scotia." '• '^ 

"Exactly," says he. "It shows your sense; it's the very 
place for 'em. It's a fine field for a young man ; I don't know 




le very 
It know 

no better one nowhere in the whole univarsal world. When I 
was a boy larnin' to shoot, sais father to me, one day, ' Sam,* sais 
he, *ril give you a lesson in gunnin' that's worth knowin'. 
** Aim highy" my boy; your gun naterally settles down a little 
takiu' sight, cause your arm gets tired, and wabbles, and the ball 
settles a little while it's travellin', accordin' to a law of natur, 
called Franklin's law ; and I obsarve you always hit below the 
mark. Now, make allowances for these things in gunnin', and 
"aim high," for your life, always. And, Sam,' sais he, 'I've 
seed a great deal of the world, all mili^ar^ men do. I was to 
Bunker's Hill durin' the engagement, and I saw Washington the 
day he was made President, and in course must know more nor 
most men of my age ; and I'll give you another bit of advice, 
"Aim high" in life, and if you don't hit the bull's eye, you'll hit 
the " first circles," and that ain't a bad shotnother.' 

" ' Father,' sais I, ' I guess I've seed more of the world than 
you have, arter all.' 

•' ' How so, Sam ?' sais he. 

«« « Why,' sais I, • father, you've only been to Bunker's Hill, and 
that's nothin' ; no part of it ain't too steep to plough ; it's only a 
sizeable hillock, arter all. But I've been to the Notch on the 
White Mountain, so high up, that the snow don't melt there, and 
seed five States all to once, and half way over to England, and 
then I've seed Jim Crow dance. So there now ?' He jist up 
with the flat of his hand, and gave me a wipe with it on the side 
of my face, that knocked me over ; and as I fell, he lent me a kick 
on my musn't-mention-it, that sent me a rod or so afore I took 
ground on all fours. 

"'Take that, you youne; scoundrel!' said iie, 'and lam to 
speak respectful next time tj an old man, a military man, and 
your father, too.' 

" It hurt me properly, y\)i may depend. • Why,' sais I, as I 
picked myself up, ' didn't you tell m^ to " aim high," father ? So 
1 thought I'd do it, and 'eat your brag, that's all.' 

" Truth is. Squire, ^ never could let a joke pass all my life, 
without bavin' a lark with it. I was fond ol one, ever since I was 
knee high to a goose, or could recollect anythin' amost ; I have 
got into a horrid sight of scrapes by 'em, that's a fact. I never 
forgot that lesson though, it was kicked into me ; and lessons that 
are larnt on the right eend, ain't uever forgot amost. I have 
'aimed high' ever since, and see where I be now. Here I am 
an Attache, made out of a wooden clock pedlar. Tell you what. 











I' I 


. t '""i 



; I 



I shall be ' embassador' yet, made out of nothin' but an 'Attach^,' 
and I'll be President of our great Republic, and almighty nation 
in the eend, made out of an embassador, see if I don't. That 
comes of ' axmin* high.' What do you call that water near your 
coach-house ?" 

"A pond." • ^ ' i^pr. 

" Is there any brook runnin' in, or auy stream runnin* out ?** 


" Well, that's the difference between fi. lake and a pond. Now, 
set that down for a traveller's fact. Now, where do you go to 

*' To the lakes, of course ; there are no llsh in the ponds." 

" Exactly," said Mr. Slick, "that is what I want to bring you 
to ; there is no fish in a pond, there is nothin* but frogs. Nova 
Scotia is only a pond, and so is New Brunswick, and such out- 
landish, out o' the way, little crampt up, stagnant places. There 
is no ' big fish' there, nor never can be ; there ain't no food for 
'em. A colony frog ! ! Heavens and airth, what an odd fish that 
is ? A colony poUy wog ! do, for gracious sake, catch one, put 
him into a glass bottle full of spirits, and send him to the Museum 
as a curiosity in natur. So you are a goin' to make your two 
nice pretty little smart boys a pair of colony frogs, eh ? Oh ! do, 
by all means. 

" You'll have great comfort in 'em, Squire. Monstrous com- 
fort. It will do your old heart good to go down to the edge of 
the pond on the fust of May, or thereabouts, accordin' to the 
season, jist at sun down, and hear 'em sing. You'll see the little 
fellers swell out their cheeks, and roar away like young suckin' 
thunders. For the frogs beat all natur there for noise ; they have 
no notion of it here at all. I've seed Englishmen that couldn't 
sleep all night, for the everlastin' noise these critters made. 
Their frogs have som(3thin' else to do here besides singin'. Ain't 
it a splendid prospect that, havin' these young frogs settled all 
round you in the same mud-hole, all gathered in a nice little 
musical family party. All smart fun this, till some fine day we 
Yankee storks will come down and gofeble them all up, and make 
clear work of it. 

" No, Squire, take my advice now, for once ; jist go to your 
colony minister when lie is alone. Don't set down, but stand up 
as if you was in airnesr, and didn't come to gossip, and tell him, 
* Turn these ponds into a lake,' sais you, * my lord minister, give 
them an inlet and an outlet. Let them be kept pure, and sweet, 

I am 
to be 
you u| 



and wholesome, by a stream runnin' through. Fish will live there 
then if you put them in, and they will breed there, and keep up 
the stock. At present they die ; it ain't big enough ; there ain't 
room.' If he sais he hante time to hear you, and asks you to put 
it into writin', do you jist walk over to his table, take up his lig- 
num vitSB ruler into your fist, put your back to the door, and say, 
• By the 'tarnal empire, you shall hear me ; you don't go out of 
this, till I give you the butt eend of my mind, I can tell you. I 
am an old bull frog now ; the Nova Scotia pond is big enough 
for me ; I'll get drowned if I get into a bigger one, for I hante 
got no fins, nothin' but legs and arms to swim with, and deep 
water wouldn't suit me, I ain't fit for it, and I must live and die 
there, that's my fate as sure as rates.' If he gets tired, and goes 
to get up or to move, do you shake the big ruler at him, as fierce 
as a painter, and say, ' Don't you stir for your life ; I don't want 
to lay nothin' on your head, I only want to put somethin' in it. 
I am a father and have got youngsters. I am a native, and have 
got countrymen. Enlarge our sphere, give us a chance in the 
world.' * Let me out,' he'll say, ' this minute. Sir, or I'll put you 
in charge of a policeman.' ' Let you out is it,' sais you. * Oh ! 
you feel bein' pent up, do you } I am glad of it. The tables 
are turned now, that's what we complain of. You've stood at the 
door, and kept us in ; now I'll keep you in awhile. I want to 
tallt to you, that's more than you ever did to us. How do you 
like bein' shut in ? Does it feel good ? Does it make your dander 
rise ?' * Let me out,' he'll say agin, * this moment. Sir, how dare 
you,' ' Oh ! you are in a hurry, are you ?' sais you. * You've 
kept me in all my life ; don't be oneasy if I keep you in five 

" 'Well, what do you want then ?' he'll say, kinder peevish ; 
* what do you want ?' ' I don't want nothin' for myself,' seus 
you. * I've got all I can get in that pond ; and I got that from 
the Whigs, fellers I've been abusin' all my life ; and I'm glad to 
make amends by acknowledging this good turn they did me ; for 
I am a Tory and no mistake. I don't want nothin' ; but I want 
to be an Englishman. I don't want to be an English subject; do 
you understand that now ? If you don't, this is the meanin,' that 
there is no fun in bein' a fag, if you are never to have a fag your- 
self. Give us all fair play. Don't move now,' sais you, ' for I'm 
gettin' wurm ; I'm gettin' spotty on the back, my bristles is up, 
and I might hurt you with this ruler ; it's a tender pint this, for 
I've rubbed the skin off of a sore place ; but I'll tell you a gospel 




1 I 


THE attache; 

truth, and mind what I tell you, for nobody else has sense enough, 
and if they had, they hante courage enough. If you don't make 
Englishmen of us, the force of circumstances will make Yankees of 
us, as sure as you are bom.' He'll stare at that. He is a clever 
man, and ain't wantin' in gumption. He is no fool, that's a fact. 
' Is it no compliment to you and your institutions this ?' sais you. 
'Don't it make you feel proud that even independence won't 
tempt us to dissolve the connexion? Ain't it a noble proof of 
your good qualities that, instead of agitatin' for Repeal of the 
Union, we want a closer union ? But have we no pride too ? We 
would be onworthy of the name of Englishmen, if we hadn't it, 
and we won't stand beggin' for ever I tell you. Here's our hands, 
give us yourn ; let's be all Englishmen together Give us a chance, 
and if us, young English boys, don't astonish you old English, my 
name ain't Tom Poker, that's all.' * Sit down,' he'll say, * Mr. 
Poker ; * there is a great deal in that ; sit down ; I am interested.* 
" The instaut he sais that, take your ruler, lay it down on the 
table, pick up your hat, make a scia])e with your hind leg^ and 
say, • I regret I have detained you so long, Sir. I am most 
peskily afraid my warmth has kinder betrayed me into rudeness. 
I railly beg pardon, I do u[>on my soul. I feel I have smashed 
down all decency, I am horrid ashamed of myself.' Well, he 
won't say you hante rode the high hoss, and done the unhandsum 
thing, because it wouldn't be true if he did ; but he'll say, ' Pray 
be seated. I can make allowances. Sir, even for intemperate zeal. 
And this is a very important subject, very indeed. There is a 
monstrous deal in what you say, though you have, I must say, 
rather a peculiar, an unusual, way of puttin' it.' Don't you stay 
another minit though, nor say another word, for your life ; but 
bow, beg pardon, hold in your breath, that your face may look 
red, as if you was blushin', and back out, starn fust. Whenever 
you make an impression on a man, stop ; your reasonin' and 
details may ruin you. Like a feller who sais a good thing, he'd 
better shove off, and leave every one larfin' at his wit, than stop 
and tire them out, till they say what a great screw augur that is. 
Wv.U, if you find he opens the colonies, and patronises the smart 
fiiks, leave your sons there if you like, and let 'em work up, and 
v/ork out of it, if they are fit, and time and opportunity offers. 
But one thing is sartin, the very openirC of the door will open their" 
minds, as a matter of course. If he don't do it, and I can tell 
you before hand he won't — for they actilly hante got time here, 
to think of these things — send your boys here into the great 



IS a 

world. Sais you to the young Lawyer, ' Bob,' sais you, " ' aim 
high." If you don't get to be Lord Chancellor, I shall never die 
in peace. Tve set my heart on it. It's within your reach, if you 
are good for anything. Let me see the great seal — let me handle 
it before I die — do, that's a dear; if not, go back to your Colony 
pond, and sing with your provincial frogs, and I hope to Heaven 
the fust long-legged bittern that comes there will make a supper 
of you.' 

"Then sais you to the young parson, 'Arthur,' sais you, 
* Natur jist made you for a clergyman. Now, do you jist make 
yourself ' Archbishop of Canterbury.' My death-bed scene will 
be an awful one, if I don't see you * the Primate '; for my affec- 
tions, my hopes, my heart, is fixed on it. I shall be willin' to 
die then, I shall depart in peace, and leave this world happy. 
And, Arthur,' sais you, 'they talk and brag here till one is sick 
of the sound a'most about " Addison's death-bed." Good people 
refer to it as an example, authors as a theatrical scene, and 
hypocrites as a grand illustration for them to turn up the whites 
of their cold cantin' eyes at. Lord love you, my son,' sais you, 
' let them brag of it ; but what would it be to mine ; you congra- 
tulatin' me on goin' to a better world, and me congratulatin* you 
on bein' " Archbishop." Then,' sais you, in a stam voice like a 
boatsan's trumpet — for if you want things to be remembered, 
give 'em effect, ' ''Aim high^" Sir,' sais you. Then like my old 
father, fetch him a kick on his western eend, that will lift him 
clean over the table, and say * that's the way to rise in the world, 
you young sucking parson you. "Aim high," Sir.' 

" Neither of them will ever forget it as long as they live. The 
hit does that ; for a kick is a very striking thing, that's a fact. 
There has been no good scholars since birch rods went out o' schoai, 
and sentiment went tn." 

" But you know," I said, " Mr. Slick, that those high prizes in 
the lottery of life, can, in the nature of things, be drawn but by u 
few people, and how many blanks are there to one prize in this 

" Well, what's to prevent your boys gettin' those prizes, if 
colonists was made Christians of, instead of outlawed, exiled, 
transported, onsarcumcised heathen Indgean niggers, as they 
be. If people don't put into a lottery, how the devil can 
they get prizes ? will you tell me that. Look at the critters 
here, look at the publicans, tailors, barbers, and porters' sons, 
how they've rose here, 'in this big lake,' to be chancellors, 







and archbishops ; how did they get them ? They ' aimed high,' 
and besides, all that, like father's story of the gun, by * aiming 
high/ though they may miss the mark, they will be sure to hit 
the upper circles. Oh, Squire, there is nothing like * aiming 
high,* in this world." .\^i,^ 

" I quite agree with you, Sam," said Mr. Hopewell. " I never 
heard you speak so sensibly before. Nothing can be better for 
young men than * Aiming high.* Though they may not attain 
to the highest honours, they may, as you say, reach to a most 
respectable station. But surely. Squire, you will never so far 
forget the respect that is due to so high an officer as a Secretary 
of State, or, indeed, so far forget yourself as to adopt a course 
which from its eccentricity, violence, and impropriety, must leave 
the impression that your intellects are disordered. Surely you 
will never be tempted to make the experiment ?" 

•* I should think not, indeed," I said. "I have no desire to 
become an inmate of a lunatic asylum." 

" Good," said he ; "I am satisfied. I quite agree with Sam, 
though. Indeed, I go further. I do not think he has advised 
you to recommend your boys to * aim high enough.' " 

" Creation !" said Mr. Slick, " how much higher do you want 
provincial frogs to go, than to be * Chancellor' and * Primate ?' " 

" I'll tell you, Sam ; I'd advise them to * aim higher' than 
earthly honours, I would advise them to do their duty, in any 
station of life in which it shall please Providence to place them : 
and instead of striving after unattainable objects here, to be unceas- 
ing in their endeavours to obtain that, which on certain conditions, 
is promised to all hereafter. In their worldly pursuits, as men, it 
is right for them to ' aim high :* but as Christians, it is also their 
duty to 'aim higher.* " 

; -1 





Mr. Slick visited me late last night, dressed as if he had been 
at a party, but very cross, and, as usual when in that frame of 
mind, he vented his ill-humour on the English. ^ 

" Where have you been to-night, Mr. Slick ?" 

" Jist where the English bosses will be," he replied, " when 






Old Clay comes here to this country ; — no where. I have been 
•on a st'ir-case, that's where I have been ; and a pretty place to 
see company in, ain't it? I have been jammed to death in an 
entry, and what's wus than all, I have given one gall a black eye 
with my elbow, tore another one's frock off my with my buttons, 
and near about cut a third one's leg in two with my hat. Pretty 
well for one night's work, ain't it ? and for me too, that's so 
fond of the dear little critturs, I wouldn't hurt a hair of their 
head, if I could help it, to save my soul alive. What a spot o* 

*• What the plague do people mean here by askin' a mob to 
their house, and invitin' twice as many as can get into it ? If 
they think it's complimental, they are infarnally mistaken, that's 
all : it's an insult and nothin' else, makin' a fool of a body that 
way. Heavens and airth ! I am wringing wet ! I'm ready to 
faint ! Where's the key of your cellaret ? I want some brandy 
and water. I'm dead ; bury me quick, for I won't be nice 
directly. Oh dear ; how that lean gall hurt me ! How horrid 
sharp her bones are ! 

" I wish to goodness you'd go to a Swoi-ree oncet. Squire, jist 
oncet — a grand let off, one that's upper crust and rael jam. It's 
worth seein' oncet jist as a show, I tell you, for you have no more 
notion of it than a child. All Halifax, if it was swept up clean 
and shook out into a room, wouldn't make one swoi-ree. I have 
been to three to night, and all on 'em was mobs — regular mobs. 
The English are horrid fond of mobs, and I wonder at it too ; for 
of all the cowardly, miserable, scarry mobs, that ever was seen in 
this blessed world, the English is the wust. Two dragoons will clear 
a whole street as quick as wink, any time. The instant they see 'em, 
they jist run like a flock of sheep afore a couple of bull dogs, and 
slope off properly skeered. Lawful heart, I wish they'd send for 
a dragoon, all booted, and spurred, and mounted, and let him 
gallop into a swoi-ree, and charge the mob there. He'd clear 
'em out / know, double quick : he'd chase one quarter of 'em 
down stairs head over heels, and another quarter would jump out 
'o the winders, and break their confounded necks to save their 
lives, and then the haK that's left, would be jist about half too 
many for comfort. 

" My first party to-night was a conversation one ; that is for 
them that could talk ; as for me I couldn't talk a bit, and all I 
could think was, ' how infarnal hot it is ! I wish I could get in !' 
or, * oh dear, if I could only get out !' It was a scientific party. 


itii-i ii 







a mob o' men. Well, everybody expected somebody would be 
squashed to death, and so ladies went, for they always go to 
executions. They've got a kinder nateral taste for tin horror*, 
have women. They like to see people hanged or trod to death, 
when they can get a chance. It was a conversation wam't it ? 
that's all. I couldn't understand a word I heard. Trap shale 
Greywachy ; a petrified snail, tlie. most important discovery of 
modern times. Bank governor's machine weighs sovereigns, 
light ones goes to the right, and heavy ones to the left. 

" • Stop,' says I, * if you mean the sovereign people here, there 
are none on 'em light. Right and left is both monstrous heavy ; 
all over weight, every one on 'em. I'm squeezed to death.' 

" 'Very good, Mr. Slick. Let me introduce you to ," 

they are whipt off in the cuiTent, and I don't see 'em again no 
more. * A beautiful show of flowers. Madam, at the garden : 

they are all in full blow now. The rhododendron had a 

tooth pulled when she was asleep.' * Please to let me pass, Sir.' 

* With all ray heart. Miss, if I could ; but I can't move ; if I 
could I would down on the carpet, and you should walk over me. 
Take care of your feet, Miss, I am off of mine. Lord bless me ! 
what's this } why as 1 am a livin' sinner, it's half her frock 
hitched on to my coat button. Now I know what that "cream 

*• * How do you do, Mr. Slick ? When did you come ?' 

* Why I came — ' he is turned round, and shoved out o' hearin.' 

* Xanthian marbles at the British Museum are quite wonderful ; 
got into his throat, the doctor turned him upside down, stood him 
on his head, and out it came — his own tunnel was too small.' 

* Oh, Sir, you are cuttin' me.' * Me, Miss ! Where had I the 
pleasure of seein' you before, I never cut a lady in my life, 
couldn't do so rude a thing. Havn't the honour to recollect you.' 

* Oh, Sir, take it away, it cuts me.' Poor thing, she is distracted, 
I don't wonder she's drove crazy, though I think she must have 
been made to come here at all. ' Your hat. Sir,' * Oh, that 
cussed French hat is it } Well, the rim is as stiff and as sharp 
as a cleaver, that's a fact, I don't wonder it cut you.' 'Eddis's 
pictur — capital painting, fell out of the barge, and was drowned.' 

* Having been beat on the shillin' duty ; they will attack him on 
the fourpence, and thimble rigg him out of that.' ' They say 
Sugden is in town, hung in a bad light, at the Temple Church,' 
— ' Who is that ?' * Lady Fobus ; paired off for the Session ; 
Brodie operated.' — • Lady Francis ; got the Life Guards ; there 



will be a division to night,' — ' That's Sam Slick ; I'll introduce 
you ; made a capital speech in the House of Lords in answer to 
Brougham — Lobelia — voted for the bill — The Duchess is very 
fond of — Irish Arms — ' 

" Oh ! now I'm in the entry. How tired I am ! It feels 
shockin' cold here, too, arter comin' out o' that hot room. 
Guess, I'll go to the grand musical party. Come, this will do ; 
this is Christian-like, there is room here ; but the singin' is in the 
next room, I will go and hear them. Oh 1 here they are 
agin ; it's a proper mob this. Cuss these English, they 
can't live out of mobs. Prince Albert is there in that room ; 
I must go and see him. He is popular ; he is a renderir* 
of himself very agreeable to the English, is Prince : he mxxo^ 
with them as much ri « he can ; and shews his sense in that. 
Church steeples are V' pretty things : that one to Antwerp is 
splendiriferous ; it's istin' high, it most breaks your neck 

layin' back your head to look at it ; bend backward like a hoop, 
and stare at it once with all your eyes, and you can't look up 
agin, you are satisfied. It tante nouse for a Prince to carry a head 
so high as that, Albert knows this ; he don't want to be called 
the highest steeple, cause all the world knows he is about the top 
loftiest ; but he wants to descend to the world we live in. 

" With a Queen all men love, and a Prince all men like, royalty 
has a root in the heart here. Pity, too, for the English don't 
desarve to have a Queen ; and such a Queen as they have got 
too, hang me if they do. They ain't men, they hante the feelin's 
or pride o' men in 'em ; they ain't what they used to be, the 
nasty, dirty, mean-spirited, sneakin' skunks, for if they had a 
heart as big as a pea — and that ain't any great size, nother — cuss 
'em, when any feller pinted a finger at har to hurt her, or even 
frighten her, they'd string him right up on tie spot, to the lamp- 
post. Lynch him like a dog that steals sheep right off the reel, 
and save mad-doctors, skary judges, and Chartist papers all the 
trouble of findin' excuses. And, if that didn't do, Chinese like, 
they'd take the whole crowd present and sarve them out. They'd 
be sure to catch the right one then. I wouldn't shed blood, 
because that's horrid; it shocks all Christian people, philoso- 
phisin' legislators, sentimental ladies, and spooney gentlemen. 
It's horrid barbarous that, is sheddin' blood ; I wouldn't do that, 
I'd jist hang him. A strong cord tied round his neck would keep 
that precious mixtur, traitor's blood, all in as close as if his mouth 
was corked, wired, and white-leaded, like a champagne bottle. 




^ .<^ 









b^iZS |2.5 
|}o "^~ M^H 

1^ 1^ III 2.2 
M 12.0 



1.25 lllil.4 IIIIII.6 









WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 

(716) 872-4503 


V\ . 


" Oh dear ! these are the fellers that come 
among us, and sayin' the difference atween 


out a traTellin' 
you and us is 'the 
absence of loyalty/ I've heard tell a great deal of that loyalty, 
but I've seen precious little of it, since I've been here, that's a 
fact. I've always told you these folks ain't what they used to be, 
and I see more and more on 'em every day. Yes, the English 
are like their bosses, they are so fine bred, there is nothin' left of 
'em now but the hide, hair, and shoes. 

'* So Prince Albert is there in that room ; I must get m there 
and see him, for I have never sot eyes on him since I've been 
here, so here goes. Onder, below there, look out for your corns, 
hawl your feet in, like tuitles, for I am a comin'. Take care o' 
your ribs, my old 'coons, for my elbows are crooked. Who 
wants to grow? I'll squeeze you out as a rollin'-pin does dough, 
and make you ten inches taller. I'll make good figures of you, 
my fat boys and galls, I know. Look out for scaldin's there. 
Here I am ; it's me, Sam Slick, make way, or I'll walk right 
over you, and cronch you like lobsters. 'Cheap talkin', or 
rather thinkin', sais I ; 'for in course I couldn't bawl that out in 
company here ; they don't onderstand fun, and would think it 
rude, and ongenteel. I have to be shockin' cautious what I say 
here, for fear I might lower our great nation in the eyes of 
foreigners. I have to look big and talk big the whole blessed 
time, and I am tired of it. It ain't nateral to me ; and, besides 
braggin' and repudiatin' at the same time, is most as bad as 
cantin' and swearin'. It kinder chokes me. I thought it all 
though, and said it all to myself. And,' sais I, ' take your time, 
Sam ; you can't do it, no how, you can fix it. You must wait 
your time, like other folks. Your legs is tied, and your arms is 
tied down by the crowd, and you can't move an inch beyond your 
nose. The only way is, watch your chance, wait till you can get 
your hands up, then turn the fust two persons that's next to you 
right round, and slip between them like a turnstile in the park, 
and work your passage that way. Which is the Prince "i That's 
him with the hair carefully divided, him with the moustaches. 
I've seed him ; a plaguy handsum man he is, too. Let me out 
now. I'm stifled, I'm choked. My jaws stick together, I can't 
open 'em no more ; and my wind won't hold out another 

" I have it now, I've got an idea. See if I don't put the leake 
into 'em. Won't I do them, that's all ? Clear the way there, 
the Prince is a comin', and so is the Duke. And a way is opened : 

\ i 





is 'the 
at loyalty, 
e, that's a 
ised to be, 
te English 

et in ther« 

I've been 

our corns, 

ake care o' 

d. Who 

ses dough, 

res of you, 

lin's there. 

ivalk right 

talkin', or 

bhat out in 

d think it 

nrhat I say 

^e eyes of 

le blessed 


as bad as 

ght it all 

rour time, 

must wait 

[ir arms is 

rond your 

)u can get 

Bxt to you 

the park. 



et me out 

er, I can't 

t another 

the leake 
vay there, 
B opened : 


roll back 


these words, and I walks right out, 
as large as life, and the fust Egyptian that foUers is drowned, for 
the water has closed over him. Sarves him right too, what busi- 
ness had he to grab at my life-presarver without leave. I have 
enough to do to get along by my own wit, without carryin' 

** * Where is the Prince ? Didn't they say he was a comin' ? 
Who was that went out ? He don't look Uke the Prince ; he 
ain't half so handsun, that feller, he looks like a Yankee.' * Why, 
that was Sam Slick.' ' Capital, that ! What a droll feller he is : 
he is always so ready I He desarves credit for that trick.' Guess 
I do ; but let old Connecticut alone : us Slickville boys always 
find a way to dodge in or out, embargo or no embargo, blockade 
or no blockade, we lamt that last war. 

*' Here I am in the street agin ; the air feels handsum. I have 
another invitation to-night, shall I go ? Guess I will. All the 
world is at these two last places, I reckin there will be breathin* 
room at the next ; and I want an ice cream to cool my coppers, 
shockin' bad. — Creation ! It is wus than ever ; this party beats 
t'other ones all holler. They ain*t no touch to it. I'll jist go 
and make a scrape to old uncle and aunty, and then cut stick ;for 
I hante strength to s wiggle my way through another mob. 

** * You had better get in fust, though, hadn't you, Sam ? for 
^ere you ars agin wracked, by gosh, drove right slap ashore 
atween them two fat women, and fairly wedged in and bilged. 
You can't get through, and can't get out, if you was to die for it.' 
' Can't I though ? I'll try ; for I never give in, till I can't help 
it. So here's at it. Heave off, put all steam on, and back out, 
stam fust, and then swing round into the stream. That's the 
ticket, Sam.* It's done ; but my elbow has took that lady that's 
two steps fiirder down on the stairs, jist in the eye, and knocked 
in her dead light. How she cries ! how I apologize, don't I ? 
And the more I beg pardon, the wus she carries on. But it's no 
go ; if I stay, I must fust fight somebody, and then marry her ; 
for I've spiled her beauty, and that's the rule here, they tell me.' 

" So I sets studen sail booms, and cracks on all sail, and steers 
for home, and here I am once more ; at least what's left of roe, 
and that ain't much more nor my shader. Oh dear ! I'm tired, 
shockin' tired, almost dead, and awful thirsty : for Heaven's 
sake, give me some lignum vitae, for I am so dry, I'll blow away 
in dust. 

" This is a Swoi-ree, Squire, this is London society : this is 

: 11 



THE attache; 

; -i !, 


rational enjoyment, this is a meeting of friends, who are so in- 
farnal friendly they are jammed together so they can't leave each 
other. Inseparable friends ; you must choke *em off, or you can't 
part 'em. Well, I ain't jist so thick and intimate with none o' 
them in this country as all that comes to, nothcr. I won't lay 
down my life for none on 'em ; I don't see no occasion for it, do 
you ? 

" I'll dine with you, John Bull, if you axe me ; and I ain't 
nothin' above particular to do, and the cab hire don't cost more 
nor the price of a dinner ; but hang me if ever I go to a Swoi-ree 
agin. I've had enough of that, to last me my life, I know. A 
dinner I hante no objection to, though that ain't quite so bright 
as a pewter button nother, when you don't know your right and 
left hand man. And an evenin' party, I wouldn't take my oath 
I wouldn't go to, though I don't know hardly what to talk 
about, except America ; and I've bragged so much about that, 
I'm tired of the subject. But a Swoi-ree is the devil, that's a 



" Squire," said Mr. Slick, " it ain't rainin' to-day ; suppose 
you come along with me to Tattersall's. I have been studpn' 
that place a considerable sum to see whether it is a safe shop to 
trade in or no. But I'm dubersome ; I don't like the cut of the 
sportin folks here. If I can see both eends of the rope, and only 
one man has hold of one eend, and me of the t'other, why I 
know what I am about : but if I can only see my own eend, I 
don't know who I am a puUin' agin. I intend to take a rise out 
o' some o' the knowin' ones here, that will make 'em scratch their 
heads, and stare, I know. But here we are. Cut round this 
comer, into this Lane. Here it is ; this is it to the right." 

We entered a sort of coach-yard, which was filled with a 
motley and mixed crowd of people. I was greatly disappointed 
in Tattersall's. Indeed, few things in London have answered my 
expectations. They have either exceeded or fallen short of the 
description I had heard of them. I was prepared, both from what 
I was told by Mr. Slick, and heard from others, to find that there 




ire 80 in- 
;ave each 
you can't 
I none o* 
won't lay 
for it, do 

id I ain't 
;ost more 

mow. A 

so bright 
right and 
e my oath 
tt to talk 
bout that, 
II, that* 8 a 


ji _, .. 
n studyin' 
ife shop to 
cut of the 
and only 
ler, why I 
wrn eend, I 
a rise out 
iratch their 
ound this 

ed with a 
swered my 
lort of the 
from what 
that there 

were but very few gentlemen-Uke-looking men there ; and that by 
far the greater number neither were, nor affected to be, anything 
but " knowing ones." I was led to believe that there would be a 
plentiful use of the terms of art, a variety of provincial accent, 
and that the conversation o( the jockeys and grooms would be 
liberally garnished with appropriate slang. . <a ; . 

The gentry portion of the throng, with some few exceptions, it 
was said, wore a dissipated look, and had that peculiar appear- 
ance of an incipient disease, that indicates a life of late hours, of 
excitement, and bodily exhaustion. Lower down in the scale of 
life, I was informed, intemperance had left its indelible marks. 
And that still further down, were to be found the worthless lees 
of this foul and polluted stream of sporting gentlemen, spend- 
thrifts, gamblers, bankrupts, sots, sharpers and jockeys. 

This was by no means the case. It was just what a man 
mi^t have expected to have found a great sporting exchange and 
auction mart, of horses and carriages, to have been, in a great 
city like London, had he been merely told that such was the 
object of the place, and then left to imagine the scene. It was, 
as I have before said, a mixed and motley crowd ; and must 
necessarily be so, where agents attend to bid for their principals, 
where servants are in waiting upon their masters, and above all, 
where the ingress is open to every one. 

It is, however, unquestionably the resort of gentlemen. In a 
great and rich country like this, there must, unavoidably, be a 
Tattersall's ; and the wonder is, not that it is not Letter, but that; 
it is not infinitely worse. Like all striking pictures, it had strong 
lights and shades. Those who have suffered, are apt to retaliate : 
and a roan who has been duped, too often thinks he has a right 
to make reprisals. Tattersall's, therefore, is not without its pri- 
vateers. Many persons of rank and character patronize sporting, 
from a patriotic but mistaken notion, that it is to the turf alone 
the excellence of the English horse is attributable. 

One person of this description, whom I saw there for a short 
time, I had the pleasure of knowing before; and from him I 
learned many interesting anecdotes of individuals whom he pointed 
out as having been once well known about town, but whose 
attachment to gambling had effected their ruin. Personal stories 
of this kind are, however, not within the scope of this work. 

As soon as we entered, Mr. Slick called my attention to the car- 
riages which were exhibited for sale, to their elegant shape and 
" beautiful fixins," as he termed it ; but ridiculed, in no measured 






■.. Ii 

terms, their enormous weight. **It is do wonder/' said he^ 
" they have to get fresh hosses here every ten miles, and travellin' 
costs so much, when the carriage alone is enough to kill beasts. 
What would Old Bull say, if I was to tell him of one pair of 
hosses carryin' three or four people, forty or fifty miles a day, 
day in and day out, hand nmnin' for a fortnight ? Why, he'd 
either be too civil to tell me it was a lie, or bein' afeerd I'd jump 
doy/n bis throat if he did, he'd sing dumb, and let me see by his 
looks, he thought so, though. 

i ** I intend to take the consait out of these chaps, and that's a 
fact. If I don't put the leak into 'em afore I've done with them, 
my name ain't Sam Slick, that's a fact, I'm studyin' the ins 
and the outs of this place, so as to know what I am about, afore 
I take hold ; for I feel kinder skittish about my men. Gentle- 
men are the lowest, lyinest, bullyinest, blackguards there is, when 
they choose to be ; 'specially if they have rank as well as money. 
A thorough-bred cheat, of good blood, is a clipper, that's a fiact. 
They ain't right up-and-down, like a cow's tail, in their dealin's ; 
and they've got accomplices, fellers that will lie for 'em like any- 
thing, for the honour of their company ; and bettin', ouder such 
circumstances, ain't safe. 

*' But, I'll tell you what is, if you have got a boss that can do 
it, and no mistake; back him, boss agin hoss, or what's safer 
still, hoss agin time, and you can't be tricked. Now, I'll send 
for Old Clay, to come in Cunard's steamer, and cuss 'em they 
ought to bring over the old hoss and his fixins, free, for it was me 
first started that line. The way old Mr. Glenelg stared, when I 
told him it was thirty-six miles shorter to go from Bristol to 
New York by the way of Halifax, than to go direct warn't slow. 
It stopt steam for that hitch, that's a fact, for he thort I was 
mad. He sent it down to the Admiralty to get it ciphered right, 
and it took them old seagulls, the Admirals a month to find it out. 

" And when they did, what did they say ? Why, cuss 'em, 
says they, * any fool knows that.' Says I, ' If that's the case 
you are jist the boys then that ought to have found it out right 
off at oncet.' 

** Yes, Old Clay ought to go free, but he won't ; and guess I 
am able to pay freight for him, and no thanks to nobody. Now, 
I'll tell you what, English trottin' is about a mile in two minutes 
and forty-seven seconds, and that don't happen oftener than oncet 
in fifty years, if it was ever done at all, for the English brag so 
there is no telling right. Old Clay can do his mile in two 



said he, 
I traveUin' 
ill beastB. 
le pair of 
ies a day» 
^^hy, he'd 

I'd jump 
see by his 

dd that's a 
evith them, 
in* the ins 
bout, afore 
. Gentle- 
re is, when 
as money. 
Lat's a fiact. 
ir dealings ; 
n likeany- 
ouder such 

that can do 

rhat's safer 
r, I'll send 

)8 'em they 
it was me 

red, when I 
Brbtol to 

rarn't slow. 
:hort I was 
lered right, 
find it out. 
cuss 'em. 
Is the case 
it out right 

^nd guess I 

ly. Now, 

,0 minutes 

I than oncet 

^sh brag so 

le in two 

minutes and thirty-eight seconds. He has done that, and I guess 
he eould do more. I have got a car, that is as light as whalebone, 
and I'll bet to do it with wheels and drive myself. I'll go in up 
to the handle, on Old Clay. I have a hundred thousand dollars 
of hard cash made in the colonies, I'll go half ' of it on the old 
boss, hang me if I don't, and I'll make him as well knowd to 
England as he is to Nova Scotia. 

'* I'll .allow him to be beat at fiist, so as to lead 'em on, and 
Clay is as cunnin' as a coon too, if he don't get the word g'lang 
(go along) and the Indgian skelpin* yell with it, he knows I ain't 
in aimest, and he'll allow me to beat him and bully him like 
nothin' . He'll pretend to do his best, and sputter away like a 
hen scratchin' gravel, but he wont go one mossel faster, for he 
knows I never lick a free boss. 

" Won't it be beautiful ? How they'll all larf and crow, when 
they see me a thrashin' away at the boss, and then him goin' 
slower, the faster I thrash, and me a threatenin' to shoot the 
brute, and a talkin' at the tip eend of my tongue like a ravin' dis> 
tracted bed bug, and ofFerin' to back him agin, if they dare, and 
planken down the pewter all round, takin' every one up that will 
go the figur', till I raise the bets to the tune of fifty thousand 
dollars. When I get that far, they may stop their larfin' till 
next time, I guess. That's the turn of the fever — that's the 
crisis — that's my time to larf then. 

" I'll mount the car then, take the bits of list up, put 'em into 
right shape, talk a little Connecticut Yankee to the old lioss, to 
set his ebernezer up, and make him rise inwardly, and then give 
the yell," (which he uttered in his excitement in earnest ; and a 
most diabolical one it was. It pierced me through and through, 
and curdled my very blood, it was the death shout of a savage.) 
" G'lang you skunk, and turn out your toes pretty," said he, 
and he again repeated this long protracted, shrill, infernal yell, a 
second time. 

Every eye was instantly turned upon us. Even Tattersall sus- 
pended his " he is five years old — a good hack — and is to be 
sold." to give time for the general exclamation of surprise. " Who 
the devil is that ? Is he mad } Where did he come from ? Does 
anybody know him ? He is a devilish keen-lookin' fellow that ; 
what an eye he has ! He looks like a Yankee, that fellow." 

" He's been here, your honour, several days, examines every, 
thing and says nothing ; looks like a knowing one, your honour. 
He handles a boss as if he'd seen one afore to-day. Sir." 

N 2 

;''?5="'-^-7;'„" -'•;:' 



,. THE attache; 



" Who is that gentleman with him ?" 

" Don't know, your honour, never saw him before ; he loo\i» 
like a ftirriner, too." ..i ith^f 

" Come, Mr. Slick," said I, " we are attracting too much atten- 
tion here, let us go." 

" Cuss 'em," said he, " I'll attract more attention afore I've 
done yet, when Old Clay comes, and then I'll tell 'em who I am 
— Sam Slick, from Sliclcnlle, Onion County, State of Connecticut, 
United States of America. But I do suppose we had as good 
make tracks, for I don't want folks to know me yet. I'm plaguy 
sorry I let out that countersign of Old Clay too, but they won't 
onderstand it. Critters like the English, that know everything, 
have generally weak eyes, from studym' so hard. vah- 

" Did you take notice of that critter I was a handlm' of. Squire ? 
that one that's all drawed up in the middle like a devil's darnin' 
needle ; her hair a standin' upon eend as if she was amazed at her- 
self, and a look out of her eye, as if she thort the dogs would find 
the steak kinder tough, when they got her for dinner. Well, that's 
a great mare that 'are, and there ain't nothin' onder the sun the 
matter of her, except the groom has stole her oats, forgot to give 
her water, and let her make a supper sometimes off of her nasty, 
mouldy, filthy beddin'. I hante «ee'd a boss here equal to her 
a'most — short back, beautiful rake to the shoulder, great depth of 
chest, elegant quarter, great stifle, amazin' strong arm, monstrous 
nice nostrils, eyes like a weasel, all outside, game ears, first chop 
bone and fine flat leg, with no gum on no part of it. She's a 
sneezer that ; but she'll be knocked down for twenty or thirty 
pound, because she looks as if she was used up. 

"I intended to a had that mare, for I'd a made her worth 
twelve hundred dollars. It was a dreadful pity, I let go, that 
time, for 1 actilly forgot where I "was. I'll know better next 
hitch, for boughten wit is the best in a general way. Yes, I'm 
peskily sorry about that mare. Well, swappin' I've studied, but 
I doubt if it's as much the fashion here as with us ; and besides, 
swappin' where you don't know the county and its tricks (for 
every county has its own tricks, different ft-om others), is danger- 
some too. I've seen swaps where both sides got took in. Did 
ever I tell you the story of the ' Elder and the grave-digger V " 

" Never," I replied ; " but here we are at our lodgings. Come 
in, and tell it to me." ' -st • *^* 

" Well," said he, " I must have a glass of mint julip fust, to 
wash down that ere disappointment about the mare. It was a 

J&I L 



dreadful go that. I jist lost a thousand dollars by it, as slick as 
grease. But it's an excitia' thing is a trottin' race, too. When 
you mount, hear the word * Start !' and shout out ' G'lang !' and 
give the pass word." Good heavens ! what a yell he perpetrated 
again. I put both hands to my ears, to exclude the reverbera- 
tions of it from the walls. 

** Don't be skeered, Squire ; don't be skeered. We are alone 
now : there is no mare to lose. Ain't it pretty ? It makes me 
feel all dandery and on wires like." 

" But the grave-digger ?" said I. 

'* Well," says he, " the year afore I knowed you, I was a-goin' 
in the fall, down to Clare, about sixty miles below Annapolis, to 
collect some debts due to me there from the French. And as 1 
was a-jo^n' on along the road, who should I overtake but Elder 
Stephen Grab, of Beechmeadows, a mounted on a considerable of 
a clever-lookin' black mare. The Elder was a pious man ; at 
least he looked like one, and spoke like one too. His face was as 
long as the moral law, and p'rhaps an inch longer, and as smooth 
as a hone ; and his voice was so soft and sweet, and his tongue 
moved so ily on its huiges, you'd a thought you might a trusted 
him with ontold gold, if you didn't care whether you ever got it 
agin or no. He had a bran new hat on, with a brim that was 
none of the smallest, to keep the sun from roakin' his inner man 
wink, and his go-to-meetin' clothes on, and a pair of silver 
mounted spurs, and a beautiful white cravat, tied behind, so as to 
have no bows to it, Euid look meek. If there was a good man on 
airth, you'd a said it was him. And he seemed to feel it, and 
know it too, for there was a kind of look o' triumph about him, as 
if he had conquered the Evil One, and was considerable well satis- 
fied with himself. 

*< * H'are you,* sais I, * Elder, to-day ? Which way are you 

*• ' From the General Christian Assembly/ sais he, ' to Goose 
Creek. We had a '*most refreshirC time orCt." There was a 
great " outpourin* of the spirit.'^ * 

" ' Well, that's awful,' sais I, * too. The magistrates ought to 
see to that; it ain't right, when folks assemble that way to wor- 
ship, to be a-sellin' of rum, and gin, and brandy, and spirits, 
is it?' 

" * I don't mean that,' sais he, * although, p'rhaps, there was 
too much of that wicked traffic too. I mean the preachiii'. It 
was very peeowerful ; there was "many sinners saved y ' . 




THE ATTACH^; ' ^' 

" ' I guess there was plenty of room for it,' sais I. * onless that 
neighbourhood has much improved since I knowed it last.' 

" * It's a sweet thing,' sais he. 'Have you ever ** made pro- 
/mion," Mr. Slick?' ''* 

" ' Come,' sais I to myself, * this is cuttin' it rather too fat. I 
must put a stop to this. This ain't a subject for conversation 
with such a cheatin', cantin', hippocrytical skunk as this is. Yes,' 
sais I, * long ago. My profession is that of a clockmaker, and I 
make no pretension to nothin' else. But come, let's water our 
hosses here and liquor ourselves.' 

" And we dismounted, and gave *em a drop to wet their 

" ' Now,' sais I, a-takin' out of a pocket-pistol that I generally 
travelled with, ' I think I'll take a drop of grog ;' and arter helpin' 
myself, I gives the silver cover of the flask a dip in the brook (for 
a clean rinse is better than a dirty wipe, any time), and sais I, 
' Will you have a little of the " outpourm* of the Spirit f What 
do you say, Elder?* "^"'S 

"'Thank you,' sais he, 'friend Slick. I never touch liquor, 
it's agin our rules.' 

" And he stooped down and filled it with water, and took a 
mouthful, and then makin' a face like a frog afore he goes to sing, 
and swellia' his cheeks out like a Scotch bagpiper, he spit it all 
out. Sais he, ' That is so warm, it makes me sick ; and as I ain't 
otherwise well, from the celestial exhaustion of a protracted 
meetin', I believe I will take a little drop, as medicine.' 

" Confound him I if he'd a said he'd only leave a little drop, it 
would a been more like the thing ; for he e'en a'most emptied the 
whole into the cup, and drank it off clean, without winkin'. 

*• * It's a " very refreshin' time," ' sais I, * ain't it ?' But he 
didn't make no answer. Sais I, ' that's a likely beast of youm. 
Elder,* and I opened her mouth, and took a look at her, and no 
easy matter nother, I tell you, for she held on like a bear trap, 
with her jaws. V 

•* • She won't suit you,' sais he, with a smile, ' Mr. Slick.* . 

*' ' I guess not,' sais I. 

" * But she'll jist suit the French,* sais he. - ^^aim 

. •* • It's lucky she don't speak French then,' sais I, ' or thkfd 
soon find her tongue was too big for her mouth. That critter will 
never see five-and-twenty, and I'm a thinkin', she's thirty v|Bar 
old, if she is a day.' 

" • I was a thinkin' ', said he, with a sly look out o' the comer 



of his eye, as if her age warn't no secret to him, ' I wuj a thiukin' 
it's time to put her off, and she'll jist suit the French. They 
hante much for hosses to do, in a giniral way, but to ride about ; 
and you won't say nothin' about her age, will you? it might 
endamnify a sale.' 

" * Not I,' sais I, * I skin my own foxes, and let other folks 
skin their'n. I have enough to do to mind my own busioess, 
without interferin' with other people's.' 

*' • She'll jist suit the French,' sais he ; * they don't know 
nothin' about hosses, or anything else. They are a simple people, 
and always will be, for their priests keep 'em in ignorance. It's 
an awful thing to see them kept in the outer porch of darkness 
that way, ain't it ?' 

.;*f * I guess you'll put a new pane o' glass in their porch,' sais 
I, * and help some o' them to see better ; for whoever gets that 
fnare, will have his eyes opened, sooner nor he bargains for, I 

" Sais he, * she ain't a bad mare ; and if she could eat hay, 
might do a good deal of work yet,' and he gave a kinder chuckle 
laugh at his own joke, that sounded like the rattles in his throat, 
it was so dismal and deep, for he was one o' them kind of fellers 
thiit's too good to larf, was Steve. 

n J f^^ Well, the horn o' grog he took began to onloosen his tongue ; 
iand I got out of him, that she come near dyin' the winter afore, 
her teeth was so bad, and that he had kept her all summer in a 
dyke pasture up to her fetlocks in white clover, and ginn' her 
ground oats, and Indgian meal, and nothin' to do all summer ; 
and in the fore part of the fall, biled potatoes, and he'd got her as 
fat as a seal, and her skin as slick as an otter's. She fairly shined 
agin, in the sun. 

" * She'll jist suit the French,' said he, * they are a simple 
people and don't know nothin', and if they don't like the mare, 
they must blame their priests for not teachin' 'em better. I shall 
keep within the strict line of truth, as becomes a Christian man. 
I scorn to take a man in.' 

"Well, we chatted away arter this fashion, he a openin' of 
himself and me a walkin' into him ; and we jogged along till we 
came to Charles Tarrio's to Montagon, and there was the matter 
of. a thousand French people gathered there, a chatterin', and 
laughin', and jawin', and quarrellin', and racin', and wrastlin', and 
all a givin' tongue, like a pack of village dogs, when an Indgian 
, fp^s to town. It was town meetin' day. 

f ■ 

■F" X.'.-*'!" 



" Well, there was a critter there, called by nickname, * Goodish 
Oreevoy,' a mounted on a white pony, one o' the scariest little 
screamers you ever see since you was bom. He was a try in' to 
get up a race, was Ooodish, and banterin' every one that had a 
boss to run with him. 

*' His face was a fortin' to a painter. His forehead was high 
and narrer, showin' only a long strip o' tawny skin, in a line with 
his nose, the rest bein' covered with hair, as black as ink, and as 
iley as a seal's mane. His brows was thick, bushy, and over* 
hangin', like young brushwood on a cliff, and onderneath was two 
black peerin' little eyes, that kept a-movin' about, keen, good- 
natured, and roguish, but sot far into his skull, and looked like 
the eyes of a fox peepin' out of his den, when he wam't to home 
to company hisself. His nose was high, sharp, and crooked, like 
the back of a reapin' hook, and gave a plaguy sight of character 
to his face, while his thinnish lips, that closed on a straight line, 
curlin' up at one eend, and down at the other, showed, if his 
dander was raised, he could be a jumpin', tarin', rampagenous 
devil if he chose. The pint of his chin projected and turned up 
gently, as if it expected, when Goodish lost his teeth, to rise in 
thi world in rank next to the nose. When good natur* sat on 
the box, and drove, it wam't a bad face ; when Old Nick was 
oachman, I guess it would be as well to give Master Frenchman 
the road. 

" He had a red cap on his head, his beard hadn't been cut since 
last sheep shearin', and he looked as hairy as a tarrier ; his shhrt 
collar, which was of yaller flannel, fell on his shoulders loose, and 
a black handkercher was tied round his neck, slack like a sailor's. 
He wore a round jacket and loose trowsers of homespun with no 
waistcoat, and his trowsers was held up by a gallus of leather on one 
side, and of old cord on the other. £ither Goodish had growed 
since his clothes was made, or his jacket and trowsers wam't on 
speakin' tarms, for they didn't meet by three or four inches, and 
the shirt showed atween them like a yaller militia sash round him. 
His feet was covered with moccasins of ontanned moose hide, and 
one heel was sot off with an old spur and looked sly and wicked. 
He was a sneezer that, and when he flourished his great long 
withe of a whip stick, that looked like a fishin' rod, over his 
head, and yelled like all possessed, he was a caution, that's a 
fact. ^ ^ ^ ■■ •' ■■'i'^\. 

" A knowin' lookin little boss, it was too, that he was mounted 
on. Its tail was cut close off to the stump, which squared up his 



ramp, and made him look awful strong in the hind quarters. His 
mane was ' hogged' which fulled out the swell and crest of the 
neck, and his ears being cropped, the critter had a game look 
about him. There was a proper good onderstandin' between 
him and his rider : they looked as if they had growed together, 
and made one critter — half boss, half man with a touch of the 

** Goodish was all up on eend by what he drank, and dashed in 
and out of the crowd arter a fashion, that was quite cautionary, 
callin' out, * Here comes " the grave-digger." Don't be skeered, 
if tuij of you get killed, here is the boss that will dig his grave for 
Dothm*. Who'll run a lick of a quarter of a mile, for a pint of 
rum. Will you run ?' said be, a spunkin' up to the Elder, ' come, 
let's run, and whoever wins, shall go the treat.' 

" The Elder smiled as sweet as sugar-candy, but backed out ; 
he was too old, he said, now to run. 

" * Will you swap bosses, old broadcloth then V said the other, 
' because if you will, here's at you.' 

*' Steve took a squint at pony, to see whether that cat would 
jump or no, but the cropt ears, the stump of a tail, the rakish 
look of the horse, didn't jist altogether convene to the taste or the 
•anctified habits of the preacher. The word no, hung on his lips, 
Uke a wormy apple, jist ready to drop the fust shake ; but before 
tt let go, the great strength, the spryness, and the oncommon 
obedience of pony to the bit, seemed Lo kinder balance the objec> 
tioDi ; while the sartan and ontimely eend that bung over his own 
mare, during the comin' winter, death by starvation, turned the 

" Well,* said he, slowly, * if we like each other's beasts, friend, 
and can agree as to the boot, I don't know as I wouldn't trade ; 
for I don't care to raise colts, bavin' plenty of boss stock on band, 
and perhaps you do.* 

'* * How old is your boss ?* said the Frenchman. 

" * I didn't raise it,' sais Steve, ' Ned Wheelock, I believe, 
brought her to our parts.* 

" * How old do you take her to be ?' 

" • Poor critter, she'd tell you herself, if she could,' said he, 
' for she knows best, but she can't speak ; and I didn't see her, 
when she was foalded.* 

" * How old do you think V 

" * Age,* sais Steve, ' depends on use, not on years. A boss at 
five, if ill-used, is old ; a boss at eight, if well used, is young.* 



THE attache; 

1 i. 


" • Sacry footry !' sais Goodibb, * why don't you speak out like 
a man ? Lie or no lie, how old is she ?' 

" • Well, I don't like to say,' sais Steve, * I know she is eight 
for sartain, and it may be she's nine. If I was to say eight, and 
it turned out nine, you might be thinkin' hard of me. I didn't 
raise it. You can see what condition she is in ; old bosses ain't 
commonly so fat as that, at least I never see one that was.' 

" A long banter then growed out of the ' boot money.* "iTie 
Elder asked £7 lOs. Goodish swore he wouldn't give that for 
him and his boss together; that if they were both put up to 
auction that blessed minute, they wouldn't bring it. The Elder 
hung on to it, as long as there was any chance of the boot, 
and then fort the ground like a man, only givin' an inch or 
80 at a time, till he drawed up and made a dead stand, on one 

" Goodish seemed willing to come to tarms too ; but like a 
prudent man, resolved to take a look at the old mare's motith, and 
make some kind of a guess at her age ; but the critter knowed how 
to keep her own secrets, and it was ever so long, afore he forced 
her jaws open, and when he did, he came plaguy near losin' of a 
finger, for his curiosity ; and as he hopped and danced about with 
pain, he let fly such a string of oaths, and sacry-cussed the Elder 
and his mare, in such an all-fired passion, that Steve put both his 
hands up to his ears, and said, * Oh, my dear friend, don't swear ; 
it's very wicked. I'll take your pony, I'll ask no boot, if you 
will only promise not to swear. You shall have the mare as she 
stands. I'll give up and swap even ; and there shall be no after 
claps, nor ruein bargains, nor recantin', nor nothin', only don't 

** Well, the trade was made, the saddles and bridles was shifted, 
and both parties mounted their new bosses. ' Mr. Slick,' sais 
Steve, who was afraid he would lose the pony, if he staid any 
longer, ' Mr, Slick,' sais he, ' the least said, is the soonest mended, 
let's be a movin', this scene of noise and riot is shockin' to a religious 
man, ain't it?' and he let go a groan, as long as the embargo 
a' most. 

** Well, he had no sooner turned to go, than the French people 
set up a cheer that made all ring again ; and they sung out ' La 
Fossy Your.' • La Fossy Your,' and shouted it agin and agin 
ever so loud. , 

. " * What's that ?' sais Steve. 

** Well, I didn't know, for I never heerd the word afore ; but 



it don't do to say you don't know, it lowers you in the eyes of 
other folks. If you don't know what another man knows he 
is shocked at your ignorance. But if he don't know what 
you do, he can find an excuse in a minute. Never say you don't 

" • So,' sais I, ' they jabber so everlastin' fiast, it ain't no easy 
matter to say what they mean; but it sounds like "good bye," 
you'd better turn round and make 'em a bow, for they are very 
polite people, is the French.' 

'* So Steve turns and takes off his hat, and makes them a low 
bow, and they larfs wus than ever, and calls out again, ' La 
Fossy Your,' • La Fossy Your.' He was kinder ryled, was the 
Elder. His honey had begun to farment. and smell vinegery. 
' May be, next Christmas,' sais he, * you won't larf so loud, when 
you find the mare is dead. Ooodish and the old mare are jist 
alike, they are all tongue them critters. I rather think it's me,' 
sais he, ' has the right to larf, for I've got the best of this bargain, 
and no mistake. This is as smart a little boss as ever I see. I 
know where I can put him off to great advantage. I shall make 
a good day's work of this. It is about as good a boss trade as I 
ever made. The French don't know nothin' about bosses ; they 
are a simple people, their priests keep 'em in ignorance on pur- 
pose, and they don' tknow nothin'.' 

" He cracked and bragged considerable, and as we progressed 
we came to.Montagon Bridge. The moment pony sot foot on it, 
he stopped short, pricked up the latter eends of his ears, snorted, 
squeeled and refused to budge an inch. The Elder got mad. 
He first coaxed and patted, and soft sawdered him, and then 
whipt and spurred, and thrashed him like anything. Pony got 
mad too, for bosses has tempers as well as Elders ; so he turned 
to, and kicked right straight up on eend, like Old Scratch, and 
kept on without stoppin' till he sent the Elder right slap over his 
head slanterdicularly, on the broad of his back into the river, and 
he floated down thro' the bridge and scrambled out at t'other side. 

" Creation ! how he looked. He was so mad, he was ready to 
bile over ; and as it was he smoked in the sun, like a tea-kettle. 
His clothes stuck close down to him, as a cat's fur does to her 
skin, when she's out in the rain, and every step he took his boots 
went squish, squash, like an old woman churnin* butter ; and his 
wet trowsers chafed with a noise like a wetflnppin' sail. He was 
a show, and when he got up to his boss, and held on to his mane, 
and first lifted up one leg and then the other to let the water run 





out of his boots, I couldn't hold in no longer, but laid back and 
larfed till I thought on my soul I'd fall off into the river too. 

" * Elder,' says I, ' I thought when a man jined your sect, he 
could never "fall off agin,''^ but I see you ain't no safer than other 
folks arter all.' 

•' ' Come,' says he, ' let me be, that's a good soul, it's bad 
enough, without being larfed at, that's a fact. I can't account 
for this caper, no how. It's very strange too, ain't it ! What on 
airth got into the hoss to make him act so ugly. Can you tell. 
Mr. SUck.?' 

" * Why,' sals I, ' he don't know English yet, that's all. He 
waited for them beautiful French oaths that Goodish used. Stop 
the fust Frenchman you meet and give him a shillin' to teach you 
to swear, and he'll go like a lamb.' 

" I see'd what was the matter of the hoss by his action as soon 
as we started ; but I warn't a goin' for to let on to him about it. 
I wanted to see the sport. Well, he took his hoss by the bridle 
and. led him over the bridge, and he foUered kindly, then he 
mounted, and no hoss could go better^ Arter a little, we came 
to another bridge agin, and the same play was acted anew, same 
coaxin', same threatenin', and same thrashin, ; at last pouy put 
down his head, and began to shake his tail, a gettin' ready for 
another bout of kickin' ; when Steve got off and led him, and did 
the same to every bridge we come to. 

*• ' It's no use,' sais I, ' you must lam them oaths, he's used to 
'em and misses them shocking. A sailor, a hoss, and a nigger 
ain't no good without you swear at 'em ; it comes kinder nateral 
to them, and they look for it, fact I assure you. Whips wear 
out, and so do spurs, but a good sneezer of a cuss hain't no wear 
out to it; it's always the same.' 

*' I'll lam him sunthin', sais he, ' when I get him to home, and 
out o' sight that wi.i do him good, and that he won't forget for 
one while, I know.' 

" Soon arter this we came to Everett's public-house on the bay, 
and I galloped up to the door, and went as close as I cleverly 
could on purpose, and then reiped up short and sudden, when 
whap goes the pony right agin the side of the house, and nearly 
killed himself. He never stirred for the matter of two or three 
minutes. I actilly did think he had gone for it, and Steve went 
right thro' the winder on to the floor, with a holler noise, like a 
log o' wood thrown on to the deck of a vessel. * Eugh !' says he, 
and he cut himself with the broken glass quite ridikilous. 



t( ( 

Why,' sais Everett, ' as I am a livin' sinner this is " the 
Grave-digger," he'll kill you, man, as sure as you are bom, be is 
the wickedest boss that ever was seen in these clearins' here ; 
and he is as blind as a bat too. No man in Nova Scotia can 
manage that boss but Goodish Greevoy, and he'd manage the 
devil that feller, for he is man, horse, shark, and sarpent all in 
one, that Frenchman. What possessed you to buy such a var- 
mint as that ?' 

" ' Grave-digger!' said doleful Steve, • what is that ?* 

" * Why,' sais he, ' they went one day to bury a man, down to 
Clare did the French, and when they got to the grave, who 
should be in it but the pony. He couldn't see, and as he was a 
feedin' about, he tumbled in head over heels and they called him 
always arterwards '*the Grave-digger." * 

*' ' Very simple people them French,' sais I, * Elder ; they 
don't know nothin' about bosses, do they ? Their priests keep 
them in ignorance on purpose.' 

" Steve winced and squinched his face properly ; and said the 
glass in his hands hurt him. Well, arter we sot all to rights, 
we began to jog on towards Digby. The Elder didn't say much, 
he was as chop-fallen as a wounded moose ; at last, says he, * I'll 
ship him to St. John, and sell him. I'll put him on board of 
Captain Ned Leonard's vessel, as soon as I get to Digby.' Well, 
as I turned my head to answer him, and sot eyes on him agin, it 
most sot me a haw, hawin' a second time, he did look so like Old 
Scratch. Oh Hedges ! how haggardised he was ! His new hat 
was smashed down Hke a cap on the crown of his head, his white 
cravat was bloody, bis face all scratched, as if he had been 
clapper- clawed by a woman, and his hands was bound up with 
rags, where the glass cut 'em. The white sand of the floor of 
Everett's parlour had stuck to his damp clothes, and he looked 
like an old half-corned miller, that was a returnin' to his wife, 
arter a spree ; a leetle crest-fallen for what he had got, a leetle 
mean for the way he looked, and a leetle skeered for what he'd 
catch, when he got to home. The way he sloped warn't no matter. 
He was a pictur, and a pictur I must say, I liked to look at. 

" And now, Squire, do you take him off too, ingrave him, and 
bind him up in your book, and let others look at it, and put onder 
it, ' the 1 'ier and the Grave-dicjger.' 

•' Well, when we got to town, the tide was high, and the vessel 
jist ready to cast off ; and Steve, knowin' how skeer'd the pony 
was of the water, got off to lead him, but the crittur guessed it 



THE attache; 

^ I 

( I 

warn't a bridge, for he smelt salt water on both sides of him, and 
ahead too, and budge he wouldn't. Well, they beat him most 
to death, but he beat back agin with his heels, and it was a 
drawd fight. Then they goes to the fence, and gets a great 
strong pole, and puts it across his hams, two men at each eend 
of the pole, and shoved away, and shoved away, till they pro- 
gressed a yard or so ; when pony squatted right down on the pole, 
throwd over the men, and most broke their legs, with his weight. 

" At last, the captain fetched a rope, and fixes it round his 
neck, with a slip knot, fastens it to the windlass, and dragged 
him in as they do an anchor, and tied him by his bridle to the 
boom ; and then shoved off, and got under weigh. 

" Steve and I sot down on the wharf, for it was a beautiful 
day, and looked at them driftin' out in the stream, and hysting* 
sail, while the folks was gettin' somethin' ready for us to the inn. 

" When they had got out into the middle of the channel, took 
the breeze, and was all under way, and we was about turuin' to 
go back, I saw the pony loose ; he had slipped his bridle, and 
not likin' the motion of the vessel, he jist walked overboard, head 
fust, with a most beautiful splunge. 

" * A most refreshin' timcy said I, * Elder, that critter has of it. 
I hope that sinner will be saved.' 

" He sprung right up on eend, as if he had been stung by a 
galley nipper, did Steve, * Let me alone,* said he. * What have 
I done to be jobed, that way ? Didn't I keep within the strict 
line o' truth ? Did I tell that Frenchman one mossel of a lie ? 
Answer me that, will you ? I've been cheated awful i but I 
scorn to take the advantage of any man* You had better look to 
your own dealin's, and let me alone, you pedlin, cheatin' Yankee 
clockmaker you.' 

" * Elder,' sais I, * if you warn't too mean to rile a man, I'd 
give you a kick on your pillion, that would send you a divin' 
arter your boss ; but you ain't worth it. Don't call me names 
tho', or I'll settle your coffee for you, without a fish skin, afore 
you are ready to swaller it, I can tell you. So keep your mouth 
shut, my old coon, or your teeth might get sun-burnt. You 
think you are angry with me ; but you ain't ; you are angry 
with yourself. You know you have showd yourself a proper 
fool for to come, for to go, for to talk to a man that has seed so 
much of the world as I have, bout " refreshin' time," and " out- 
pourin' of spirit," and "makin* profession," and whatnot; and 
you know you showd yourself an° everlastin' rogue, a meditatin' 

; 1 



of cheatin' that Frenchman all summer. It's biter bit, and I 
don't pity you one mossel ; it sarves you right. But look at the 
grave- digger ; he looks to me as if he was a diggin' of his own 
grave in rael right down airnest.' 

"The captain havin' his boat histed, and thinkin' the boss 
would swim ashore of hisself, kept right straight on ; and the 
boss swam this way, and that way, and every way but the right 
road, jist ap the eddies took him. At last, he got into the ripps 
off of Johnston's pint, and they wheeled him right round and 
round like a whip-top. Poor pony ! he got his match at last. 
He struggled, and jumpt, and plunged, and fort, like a man, for 
dear life. Fust went up his knowin' little head, that had no 
ears ; and he tried to jump up and rear out of it, as he used to 
did out of a mire hole or honey pot ashore ; but there was no 
bottom there ; nothin' for his hind foot to spring from ; so down 
he went agin ever so deep : and then he tried t'other eend, and 
up went his broad rump, that had no tail ; but there was nothin' 
for the fore feet to rest on nother ; so he made a summerset, and 
as he went over, he gave out a great long end wise kick to the 
full stretch of his hind legs. 

" Poor feller I it was the last kick he ever gave in this world ; 
he sent his heels straight up on eend, like a pair of kitchen tongs, 
and the last I see of him was a bright dazzle, as the sun shined 
on his iron shoes, afore the water closed over him for ever. 

** I railly felt sorry for the poor old * grave-digger,' I did upon 
my soul, for bosses and ladies are two things, that a body can't 
help likin'. Indeed, a feller that hante no taste that way ain't a 
man at all, in my opinion. Yes, I felt ugly for poor * grave- 
digger,' though I didn't feel one single bit so for that cantin' 
cheatin', old Elder. So when I turns to go, sais I, * Elder,' sais 
I, and I jist repeated his own words — * I guess it's your turn to 
laugh now, for you have got the best of the bargain, find no mis- 
take. Goodish and the old mare are jist alike, all tongue^ ain't 
they ? But these French is a simple people, so they be ; they 
don't know nothin', that's a fact. Their priests keep 'em in igno- 
rance a puppus. 

" ' The next time you tell your experience to the great Christian 
meetin' to Goose Creek, jist up and tell 'em, from beginnin' to 
eend, the story of the * Elder and the Grave-digger.' " 

I'm I' 


^ i 






i i' 





, J 

a hurti 

:. haf" 

that I 




story, i 

{ " 





In the course of the evening, Mr. Hopewell adverted to his 
return as a matter of professional duty, and spoke of it in such a 
feeling and earnest manner, as to leave no doubt upon my mind, 
that we should not be able to detain him long in this country, 
unless his attention should be kept fully occupied by a constant 
change of scene. 

Mr. Slick expressed to me the same fear, and, knowing that I 
had been talking of going to Scotland, entreated me not to be 
long absent, for he felt convinced that as soon as he should be 
left alone, his thoughts and wishes would at once revert to 

" I will try to keep him up," said he, " as well as I can, but I 
can't do it alone. If you do go, don't leave us long. Whenever 
I find him dull, and can't cheer him up no how I can fix it, by 
talk, or fun, or sight seein' or nothin', I make him vexed, and 
that excites him, stirs him up with a pot stick, and is of great 
sarvice to him. I don't mean actilly makin' him wrathy in air- 
nest, but jist rilin of him for his own good, by pokin' a mistake 
at him. I'll show you, presently, how I do it." 

As soon as Mr. Hopewell rejoined us, he began to inquire into 
the probable duration of my visit to Scotland, and expressed a 
wish to return, as soon as possible, to Slickville. 

" Come, Minister," said Mr. Slick, tapping him on the 
shoulder, "as father used to say, we must * right about face' 
now. When we are at home let us think of home, when we are 
here, let us think of this place. Let us look a-head, don't let's 
look back, for we can't see nothin' there." 

" Indeed, Sam," said he, with a sad and melancholy air, "it 
would be better for us all if we looked back oftener than we do. 
From the errors of the past, we might rectify our course for the 
future. Prospective sin is often clothed in very alluring gar- 
ments ; past sin appears in all its naked deformity. Looking 
back, therefore — " 

" Is very well," said Mr. Slick, " in the way of preachin' ; but 
lookin' back when you can't see nothin', as you are now, is only 



a hurtin' of your eyes. I never hear that word, • lookin' back/ 
that I don't think of that funny story of Lot's wife." 

" Funny story of Lot's wife. Sir ! Do you call that a funny 
story, Sir?'* 

« I do. Sir." 

"You do. Sir?" 

" Yes, I do, Sir ; and I defy you or any other man to say it 
ain't a fuuny story." 

" Oh dear, dear," said Mr. Hopewell, " that I should have 
lived to see the day when you, my son, would dare to speak of a 
Divine judgment as a funny story, and that you should presume 
so to address me." 

" A judgment, Sir ?" 

"Yes, a judgment. Sir." 

" Do you call the story of Lot's wife a judgment ?" 

" Yes, I do call the story of Lot's wife a judgment ; a monu- 
ment of the Divine wrath for the sin of disobedience." 

" What ! Mrs. Happy Lot ? Do you call her a monument of 
wrath ? Well, well, if that don't beat all. Minister. If you had 
a been a-tyin' of the night-cap last night I shouldn't a wondered 
at your talkin* at that pace. But to call that dear little woman, 
Mrs. Happy Lot, that dancin', laughin' tormentin', little critter, 
a monument of wrath, beats all to immortal smash." 

" Why, who are you a talkin' of, Sam ?" 

" Why, Mrs. Happy Lot, the wife of the Honourable Cranbery 
Lot, of Umbagog, to be sure. Who did you think I was a talkin' 

" Well, I thought you was a-talkin' of— of— ahem — of subjects 
too serious to be talked of in that manner ; but I did you wrong, 
Sam : I did you injustice. Give me your hand, my boy. It's 
better for me to mistake and apologize, than for you to sin and 
repent. I don't think I ever heard of Mr. Lot, of Umbagog, or 
of his wife either. Sit down here, and tell me the story, for ' with 
thee conversing, I forget all time.' '* 

" Well, Minister," said Mr. Slick, " I'll tell you the inns and outs 
of it ; and a droll story it is too. Miss Lot was the darter of 
Enoch Mosher, the rich miser of Goshen ; as beautiful a little 
critter too, as ever stept in shoe-leather. She looked for all the 
world like one of the Paris fashion prints, for she was a parfect 
pictur', that's a fact. Her complexion was made of white and 
red roses, mixed so beautiful, you couldn't tell where the white 
eended, or the red begun, natur' had used the blendin' brush so 
delicate. Her eyes wer e screw augers . I tell you ; they bored right 





THE attache; 

into your heart, and kinder agitated you, and made your breath 
come and go, and your pulse flutter. I never felt nothin* like 
'em. When lit up, they sparkled like lamp reflectors : and at 
other times, they was as soft, and mild, and clear as dew-drops 
that hang on the bushes at sun-rise. When she loved, she 
loved ; and when she hated, she hated about the wickedest you 
ever see. Her lips were like heart cherries of the carnation kind ; 
so plump, and full, and hard, you felt as if you could fall to and 
eat 'em right up. Her voice was like a grand piany, all sorts 'o 
power in it ; canaiy-birds' notes at one eend, and thunder at 
t'other, accordin' to the humour she was in, for she was a' most a 
grand bit of stuff was Happy, she'd put an edge on a knife 
a'most. She was a rael steel. Her figur' was as light as a fairy's, 
and her waist was so taper and tiny, it seemed jist made for put- 
tin' an arm round in walkin*. She was as active and springy on 
her feet as a catamount, and near about as touch me-not a sort of 
customer too. She actilly did seem as if she was made out of 
steel springs and chicken-hawk. If old Cran. was to slip off the 
handle, I think I should make up to her, for she is ' a salt,' 
that's a fact, a most a heavenly splice. 

•• Well, the Honourable Cranbery Lot put in for her, won 
her, and married her. A good speculation it turned out too, for 
he got the matter of one hundred thousand dollars by her, if he 
got a cent. As soon as they were fairly welded, off they sot to 
take the tour of Europe, and they larfed and cried, and kissed 
and quarrelled, and fit and made up all over the Continent, for her 
temper was as onsrrtain as the climate here — rain one minit and 
sun the next ; but more rain nor sun. 

" He was a fool, was Cranbery. He didn't know how to 
manage her. His bridle hand warn't good, I tell you. A spry, 
mettlesome boss, and a dull critter with no action, don't mate 
well in harness, that's a fact. 

" After goin' everywhere, and everywhere else a'most, where 
should they get to but the Alps. One arternoon, a sincerely cold 
one it was too, and the weather, violent slippy, dark overtook 
them before they reached the top of one of the highest and 
steepest of them mountains, and they had to spend the night at 
a poor squatter's shanty. 

" Well, next mornin', jist at day-break, and sun-rise on them 
everlastin' hills is tall sun-rise, and no mistake, p'rhaps nothin' 
was ever seen so fine except the first one, since creation. It 
takes the rag off quite. Well, she was an enterprisin' little toad; 
was INIiss Lot too, afeered of nothin' a'mosrTWnotHuT'wouId 



IrT woul 

sanre her but she must out ap<^ have a seramb up to the tip* 
topest part of the peak afore bit. Lfast. 

" Well, the squatter there, who was a kind o' guide, did what 
he could to dispersuade her, but all to no purpose ; go she 
would, and a headstrong woman and a runaway boss are jist two 
things it's out of all reason to try to stop. The only way is to 
urge *em on, and then, bein' contrary by natur' they stop of 

" • Well,' sais the guide, * if you will go, marm, do take this 
pike staff, marm,' sais he ; (a sort of walkin' -stick with a spike 
to the eend of it), ' for you can't get either up or down them 
slopes without it, it is so almighty slippy there. So she took 
the staff, and off she sot and climbed and climbed ever so far, till 
she didn't look no bigger than a snow bird. 

" At last she came to a small flat place, like a table, and then 
she turned round to rest, get breath, and take a look at the 
glorious view ; and jist as she hove-to, up went her little heels, 
and away went her stick, right over a big parpendicular cliff, 
hundreds and hundreds, and thousands of feet deep. So deep, 
you couldn't see the bottom for the shadows, for the very snow 
looked black down there. There is no way in, it is so steep, but 
over the cliff ; and no way out, but one, and that leads to t'other 
world. I can't describe it to you, though I have see'd it since 
myself. There are some things too big to lift ; some too big to 
carry after they be lifted ; and some too grand for the tongue to 
describe too. There's a notch where dictionary can't go no 
farther, as well as every other created thing, that's a fact. 
P'rhaps if I was to say it looked like the mould that that 'are 
very peak was cast in, aiPore it was cold and stiff, and sot up on 
eend, I should come as near the mark as anything I know on. 

" Well away she slid, feet and hands out, all flat on her face, 
right away, arter her pike staff. Most people would have ginn 
it up as gone goose, and others been so frightened as not to do 
anything at all ; or at most only jist to think of a prayer, for 
there was no time to say one. 

" But not so Lot's wife. She was of a conquerin' natur'. 
She never gave nothin' up, till she couldn't hold on no longer. 
She was one o' them critters that go to bed mistress, and rise 
master ; and just as she got to the edge of the precipice, her 
head hangin' over, and her eyes lookiu' down, and she all but 
ready to shoot out and launch away into bottomless space, the 
ten commandments brought her right short up. Oh, she sais, the 
sudden joy of that sudden stop swelled her heart so big, she 

o 2 

II 1 




thought it would have bust like a byler ; and, as it was, the great 
endurin' long breath she drew, arter such an alfired escape, almost 
killed her at the ebb, it hurt her so." 

" But," said Mr. Hopewell, " how did the ten commandments 
save her ? Do you mean figuratively, or literally. Was it her 
reUance on providence, arising from a conscious observance of the 
decalogue all her life, or was it a book containing them, that 
caught against something, and stopt her descent. It is very 
interesting. Many a person, Sam, has been saved when at the 
brink of destruction, by laying fast hold on the Bible. Who can 
doubt, that the commandments had a Divine origin? Short, 
simple, and comprehensive ; the first four point to our duty to 
our Maker, the last six, towards our social duties. In this res- 
pect there is a great similarity of structure, to that excellent 
prayer given us " 

" Oh, Minister," said Mr. Slick, " I beg your pardon, I do, 
indeed, I don't mean that at all ; and I do declare and vow 
now, I wasn't a playin' possum with you, nother. I won't do 
it no more, I won't, indeed." 

" Well, what did you mean then ?" ' ■ 

'* Why I meant her ten fingers, to be sure. When a woman 
clapper claws her husband, we have a cant tarm with us boys of 
Slickville, sayin' she gave him her ten commandments." 

** And a very improper expression too. Sir," said Mr. Hope- 
well : " a very irreverent, indecent, and I may say profane 
expression ; I am quite shocked. But as you say you didn't 
mean it, are sorry for it, and will not repeat it again, I accept 
your apology, and rely on your promise. Go on. Sir." 

" Well, as I was a sayin', the moment she found herself a 
coasting of it that way, flounder fashion, she hung on by her ten 
com — I mean her ten fingers, and her ten toes, like grim death 
to a dead nigger, and it brought her up jist in time. But how to 
get back was the question ? To let go the hold of any one hand 
was sartin death, and there was nobody to help her, and yet to 
hold on long that way, she couldn't, no how she could fix it. 

** So what does she do, (for nothin' equals a woman for con- 
trivances), but move one finger at a time, and then one toe at 
a time, till she gets a new hold, and thejacrawls^b&ckisard, like 
aspan::;Worm, an inch at a hitch. Weli,~8Ke~works her passage 
"tHisway, wrong eend fbremostTby backin' of her paddles for the 
matter of half an hour or so, till she gets to where it was 
roughish, and somethin' like standin' ground, when who should 
come by but a tall handsome man, with a sort of half coat, half 



cloak-like coverin' on, fastened round the waist with a belt, and 
havin' a hood up, to ambush the head. 

" The moment she clapt eyes on him, she called to him for 
help. ' Oh,' sais she, ' for heaven's sake, good man, help me 
up I Jist take hold of my leg and draw me back, will you, that's 
a good soul V And then she held up fust one leg for him, and 
then the other, most beseechin', but nothin' would move him. 
He jist stopt, looked back for a moment aud then progressed 

"Well, it ryled her considerable. Her eyes actilly snapped 
with fire, like a hemlock log at Christmas : (for nothin' makes a 
woman so mad lis a parsonal slight, and them little ankles of 
hern were enough to move the heart of a stone, and make it 
jump out o' the ground, that's a fact, they were such fine-spun 
glass ones), it made her so mad, it gave her fresh strength ; and 
makin' two or three onnateral efibrts, she got clear back to the 
path, and sprung right up on eend, as viricked as a she-bear with 
a sore head. But when she got upright agin, she then see'd 
what a beautiful frizzle of a fix she was in. She, couldn't hope 
to climb far ; and, indeed, she didn't ambition to ; she'd had 
enough of that for one spell. But climbin' up was nothing 
compared to goin' down hill without her staff ; so what to do, 
she didn't know. 

" At last, a thought struck her. She intarmined to make that 
man help hek*, in spite of him. So she sprung forward for a 
space, like a painter, for life or death, and caught right hold of 
his cloak. ' Help — help me !' said she, ' or I shall go for it, 
that's sartain. Here's my puss, my rings, my watch, and all I 
have got : but oh, help me ! for the love of God, help me, or 
my flint is fixed for good and all.* 

" With that, the man turned round, and took one glance at 
her, as if he kinder relented, and then, all at once, wheeled back 
again, as amazed as if he was jist bom, gave an awful yell, and 
started off as fast as he could clip, though that wam't very tall 
nmnin' nother, considering the ground. But she wam't to be 
shook off that way. She held fast to his cloak, like a b'l rr t" ^ 
jhsfipus-tail, and raced arter him, screamin' and screechin' like 
mad; and the more she cried, the louder he yelled, till the 
mountains all echoed it and re-echoed it, so that you would have 
thought a thousand devils had broke louse, a'most. 

;,i " ' Such a gettin' up stairs you never did see.' 




" Well, they kept up this tantrum for the space of two or 
three hundred yards, when they came to a small, low, dismal- 
lookin' house, when the man gave the door a kick, that sent the 
latch a flying* off to the t'other eend of the room, and fell 
right in on the floor, on his face, as flat as a flounder, a groanin* 
and a moanin' like anything, and lookin' as mean as a critter 
that was sent for, and couldn't come, and as obstinate as a pine 

" ' What ails you ?' sais she, ' to act like Old Scratch that 
way ? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to behave so to a 
woman. What on airth is there about me to frighten you so, 
you great onmannerly, onmarciful, coward, you. Come, scratch 
up, this minute.' 

" Well, the more she talked, the more he groaned ; but the 
devil a word, good or bad, could she get out of him at dl. With 
that, she stoops down, and catches up his stafi^, and says she, ' I 
have as great a mind to give you a jab with this here toothpick, 
where your mother used to spank you, as ever I had in all my 
life. But if you want it, my old 'coon, you must come and get 
it ; for if you won't help me, I shall help myself.' 

" Jist at that moment, her eyes being better accustomed to the 
dim light of the place, she see'd a man, a sittin' at the fur eend 
of the room, with his back to the wall, larfin' ready to kill him- 
self. He grinned so, he showed his corn-crackers from ear to 
ear. She said, he stript his teeth like a catamount, he look'd so 
all mouth. 

" Well, that encouraged her, for there ain't much harm in a 
larfin' man ; it's only them that never larf that's fearfulsome. So 
sais she, * My good man, will you be so kind as to lend me your 
arm down this awful peak, and I will reward you handsomely, 
you may depend.' 

*' Well, he made no answer, nother ; and thinkin* he didn't 
onderstand English, she tried him in Italian, and then in broken 
French, and then bungled out a little German ; but no, still no 
answer. He took no more notice of her and her mister, and 
senior, and moimtsheer, and mynheer, than if he never heerd 
them titles, but jist larfed on. 

" She stopped a minit, and looked at him full in the face, to 
see what he meant by all this ongenteel behaviour, when all of a 
sudden, jist as she moved one step nearer to him, she saw he was 
a dead man, and had been so long there, part of the flesh had 
dropt off or dried off his face ; and it was that that made him 



^rin that way, like a fox-trap. It was the bone-house they was 
in. The place where poor, benighted, snow-squalled strag;p;lers, 
that perish on the mountains, are located, for then friends 
to come and get them, if they want 'em ; and if there ain't 
any body that knows 'em or cares for 'em, why they are left 
there for ever, to dry into nothin' but parchment and atomy, as 
it's no joke diggin' a grave in that frozen region. 

"As soon as she see'd this, she never said another blessed 
word, but jist walked off with the livin' man's pike, and began to 
poke her way down the mountain as careful as she cleverly could, 
dreadful tired, and awful frighted. 

*' Well, she hadn't gone ftr, afore she heard her name echoed 
all round her — Happy ! Happy ! Happy ! It seemed from the 
echoes agin, as if there was a hundred people a yelling it out all 
at once. 

** 'Oh, very happy,' said she, *very happy, indeed ; guess you'd 
find it so if you was here. I know I should feel very happy if I 
was out of it, that's all ; for I believe, on my soul, this is harnted 

ground, and the people in it are possessed. Oh, if I was only to 
ome, to dear Umbagog agin, no soul should ever ketch me in 
this outlandish place any more, I know.' 

" Well, the sound increased and increased so, like young 
thunder she was e'en a' most skeared to death, and in a twittera- 
tion all over ; and her knees began to shake so, she expected to 
go for it every minute ; when a sudden turn of the path show'd 
ner her husband and the poor squatter a sarchin' for her. 

•* She was so overcome with fright and joy, she could hardly 
speak — and it warn't a trifle that would toggle her tongue, that's 
a fact. It was some time after she arrived at the house afore she 
could up and tell the story onderstandable ; and when she did, 
she had to tell it twice over, first in short hand, and then in long 
metre, afore she could make out the whole bill o' parcels. Indeed, 
she hante done tellin' it yet, and wherever she is, she works 
round, and works round, till she gets Europe spoke of, and then 
she begins, * That reminds me of a most remarkable fact. Jist 
after I was married to Mr. Lot, we was to the Alps.' 

" If ever you see her, and she begins that way, up hat and cut 
stick, double quick, or you'll find the road over the Alps to Um- 
bagog, a little the longest you've ever travelled, I know. 

'• Well, she had no sooner done than Cranbery jumps up on 
eend, and sais he to the guide, ' Uncle,' sais he, * jist come along 
with me, that's a good feller, will you? We must return that 
good Samaritan's cane to him ; and as he must be considerable 



H '-■ 

t i 


! Ai 



|, ; 


cold there, I'll jist warm his hide a bit for him, to make his blood 
sarculate. If he thinks I'll put that treatment to my wife. Miss 
Lot, into my pocket, and walk off with it, he's mistaken in the 
child, that's all. Sir. He may be stubbeder than I be. Uncle, 
that's a fact ; but if he was twice as stubbed, I'd walk into him 
like a thousand of bricks. I'll give him a taste of my breed. 
Insultin' a "ady is a weed we don't suffer to grow in our fields to 
Umbagog. Let him be who the devil he will, log-leg or leather- 
breeches — green-shirt or blanket-coat — land-trotter or river-roller, 
I'll let him know there is a warrant out arter him, I know.' 

" 'Why,' sais the guide, *he couldn't help himself, no how he 
could work it. He is a friar, or a monk, or a hermit, or a pil- 
giim, or somethin' or another of that kind, for there is no eend 
to them, they are so many dilBFerent sorts ; but the breed he is of, 
have a vow never to look at a woman, or talk to a woman, or 
touch a woman,. and if they do, there is a penance, as long as into 
the middle of next week.' 

" * Not look at a woman ?' sais Cran, * why, what sort of a 
guess world would this be without petticoats ? — what a superfine 
superior tarnation fool he must be, to jine such a tee-total society 
as that. Mint julip I could give up, I do suppose, though I had 
a plaguy sight sooner not do it, that's a fact : but as for woman- 
kind, why the angeliferous little torments, there is no livin' without 
them. What do you think, stranger ?' 

•* • Sartainly,' said Squatter ; * but seein' that the man had a 
vow, why it warn't his fault, for he couldn't do nothin' else. 
Where he did wrong, was to look back; if he hadn't a looked back, 
he wouldn't have sinned.' 

'••Well, well,' sais Cran, 'if that's the case, it is a boss of 
another colour, that. I won't look back nother, then. Let him 
be. But he is erroneous considerable.' 

" So you see. Minister," said Mr. Slick, •• where there is 
nothin' to be gained, and harm done, by this retrospection, as 
you call it, why I think lookin' a-head is far better than — lookin* 



The time had now arrived when it was necessary for me to go 
to Scotland for a few days. I had two very powerful reasons for 



this excursion : — first, because an old and valued friend of mine 
was there, whom I had not met for many years, and whom I could 
not think of leaving this country without seeing again ; and 
secondly, because I was desirous of visiting the residence of my 
forefathers on the Tweed, which, although it had passed out of 
their possession many years ago, was still endeared to me as their 
home, as the scene of the family traditions ; and above all, as 
their burial-place. 

The grave is the first stage on the journey, from this to the 
other world. We are permitted to escort our friends so far, and 
no further. It is there we part for ever. It is there the human 
form is deposited, when mortality is changed for immortality. 
This burial-place contains no one that I have ever seen or known ; 
but it contains the remains of those from whom I derived my 
lineage and my name. I therefore naturally desired to see it. 

Having communicated my intention to my two American com- 
panions, I was very much struck with the different manner in 
which they received the announcement. 

" Come back soon. Squire," said Mr. Slick ; " go and see your 
old friend, if you must, and go to the old campin' grounds of your 
folks ; though the wigwam I expect has gone long ago, but don't 
look at anythin' else. I want we should visit the country toge- 
ther. I have an idea from what little I have seed of it, Scotland 
is over-rated. I guess there is a good deal of romance about 
their old times ; and that, if we knowed all, their old lairds 
warn't much better, or much richer than our Ingian chiefs ; much 
of a muchness, kinder sorter so, and kinder sorter not so, no great 
odds. Both hardy, both fierce ; both as poor as Job's Turkey, 
and both tarnation proud, at least that's my idea to a notch. 

" I have often axed myself what sort of a gall that splenderi- 
ferous, * Lady of the Lake' of Scott's was, and I kinder guess she 
was a red-headed Scotch heifer, with her hair filled with heather, 
and feather, and lint, with no shoes and stockings to her feet, 
and that 

' Her lips apart 
Like monument of Grecian art' 

;l ' 


( : 


I "i 

^ 1 

meant that she stared with her eyes and mouth wide open, like 
other county galls that never see'd nothing before — a regilar 
screetch owl in petticoats. And I suspicion, that Mr. Rob Roy 
was a sort of thievin' devil of a white Mohawk, that found it 
easier to steal cattle, than raise them himself ; and that Loch 
Katrin, that they make such a touss about, is jist about equal to 

! ■■ 






a good sizeable duck-pond in our country ; at least, that's my 
idea. For I tell you it does not do to follow arter a poet, and 
take all he says for gospel. 

" Yes, let's go and see Sawney in his * Ou\d Reeky .* Airth 
and seas ! if I have any nose at all, there never was a place so 
well named as that. Phew ! let me light a cigar to get rid of 
the fogo of it. 

"Then let's cross over the sea, and see • Pat at Home ;' let's 
look into matters and things there, and see what * Big Dan' is 
about, with his * association' and * agitation' and ' repail' and 
* teetotals.' Let's see whether it's John Bull or Patlander that's 
to blame, or both on 'em ; six of one and half-a-dozen of tother. 
By Gosh ! Minister would talk more sense in one day to Ireland, 
than has been talked there since the rebellion; for common 
sense is a word that don't grow like Jacob's ladder, in them 
diggins, I guess. It's about as stunted as Gineral Nichodemus 
Ott's corn was. 

" The Gineral was takin' a ride with a southerner one day over 
his farm to Bangor in Maine, to see his crops, fixin mill privi- 
leges and what not, and the southerner was a turning up his nose 
at everything amost, proper scorney, and braggin' how things 
growed on his estate down south. At last the Gineral' s ebenezer 
began to rise, and he got as mad as a hatter, and was intarmed 
to take the rise out of him. 

" * So,' says he, * stranger,' says he, * you talk about your 
Indgian com, as if nobody else raised any but yourself. Now 
I'll bet you a thousand dollars, I have corn that's growd so won- 
derful, you can't reach the top of it a standin' on your horse.' 

" ' Dono,' sais Southener, and * Done,' sais the General, and 
done it was. 

" * Now,' sais the Gineral, * stand up on your saddle like a 
circus rider, for the field is round that corner of the wood there.' 
And the entire stranger stood up as stiff as a poker. Tall com, 
I guess,' sais he, * if I can't reach it, any how, for I can e'en 
a'most reach the top o' them trees. I think I feel them thousand 
dollars of yourn, a marchin' quick step into my pocket, four 
deep. Reach your corn, to be sure I will. Who the plague ever 
see'd corn so tall, that a man couldn't reach it a horseback.' 

" * Try it,' sais the Gineral, as he led him into the field, where 
the corn was only a foot high, the land was so monstrous mean, 
and so beggarly poor. 

" * Reach it,' sais the Gineral. 

What a damned Yankee trick,' sais the Southerner. * What 

it (■ 




a take in this is, ain't it?' and he leapt, and hopt, and jumped 
like a snappin' turtle, he was so mad. Yes, common sense to 
Ireland, is like Indgian corn to Bangor, it ain't overly tallgrowin', 
that's a fact. We must see both these countries together. It is 
like the nigger's pig to the West Indies ' little and dam old.' 

" Oh, come back soon. Squire, I have a thousand things I 
want to tell you, and I shall forget one half o' them, if you don't ; 
and besides," said he in an under tone, " Ae," (nodding his head 
towards Mr. Hopewell,) "will miss you shockingly. He frets 
horridly about his flock. He says, ''Mancipation and Tem- 
perance have superceded the Scriptures in the States. That for- 
merly they preached religion there, but now they only preach 
about niggers and rum.' Good bye. Squire." 

" You do right. Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, " to go. That 
which has to be done, should be done soon, for we have not 
always the command of our time. See your friend, for the claims 
of friendship are sacred ; and see your family tomb-stones also, 
for the sight of them will awaken a train of reflections in a mind 
like yours, at once melancholy and elevating ; but I will not 
deprive you of the pleasure you will derive from first impressions, 
by stripping them of their novelty. You will ~be pleased with 
the Scotch ; they are a frugal, industrious, moral and intellectual 
people. I should like to see their agriculture, I am told it is by 
far the best in Europe. 

" But, Squire, I shall hope "^o see you soon, for I sometimes 
think duty calls me home again. Although my little flock has 
chosen other shepherds and quitted my fold, some of them may 
have seen their error, and wish to return. And ought I not to 
be there to receive them ? It is true, I am no longer a labourer 
in the vineyard, but my heart is there. I should like to walk 
round and round the wall that encloses it, and climb up, and look 
into it, and talk to them that are at work there. I might give 
some advice that would be valuable to them. The blossoms 
require shelter, and the fruit requires heat, and the roots need 
covering in winter. The vine too is luxuriant, and must be pruned, 
or it will produce nothing but wood. It demands constant care 
and constant labour. I had decorated the little place with flowers 
too, to make it attractive and pleasant. But, ah me ! dissent 
will pull all these up like weeds, and throw them out ; and scep- 
ticism will raise nothing but gaudy annuals. The perennials will 
not flourish without cultivating and enriching the ground ; their 
roots are in the heart. The religion of our Church, which is the 
same as this of England, is a religion which inculcates love : filial 

" s 



love towards God ; paternal love to those committed to our care ; 
brotherly love to our neighbour, nay, something more than is 
known by that term in its common acceptation, for we are 
instructed to love our neighbour as ourselves. ' 

" We are directed to commence our prayer with * Our Father.' 
How much of love, of tenderness, of forbearance, of kindness, of 
liberality, is embodied in that word — children of the same father, 
members of the same great human family ! Love is the bond of 
union — love dwelleth in the heart ; and the heart must be culti- 
vated, that the seeds of affection may germinate in it. 

" Dissent is cold and sour ; it never appeals to the affections, 
but it scatters denunciations, and rules by terror. Scepticism is 
proud and self-sufficient. It refuses to believe in mysteries, and 
deals in rhetoric and sophistry, and flatters the vanity, by exalting 
human reason. My poor lost flock will see the change, and I 
fear, feel it too. Besides, absence is a temporary death. Now 
I am gone from them, they will forget my frailties and infirmities, 
and dwell on what little good might have been in me, and, per- 
haps, yearn towards me. 

** It I was to return, perhaps I could make an impression on 
the minds of some, and recall two or three, if not more, to a sense 
of duty. What a great thing that would be, wouldn't it? And 
if I did, I would get our bishop to send me a pious, zealous, 
humble-minded, affectionate, able young man, as a successor; 
and I would leave my farm, and orchard, and little matters, as a 
glebe for the Church. And who knows but the Lord may yet 
rescue Slickville from the inroads of ignorant fanatics, political 
dissenters, and wicked infidels ? 

" And besides, my good friend, I have much to say to you, 
relative to the present condition and future prospects of this 
great country. I have lived to see a few ambitious lawyers, 
restless demagogues, political preachers, and unemployed local 
officers of provincial regiments, agitate and sever thirteen colo- 
nies at one time from the government of England. I have wit- 
nessed the struggle. It was a fearful, a bloody, and an unna- 
tural one. My opinions, therefore, are strong m proportion as 
my experience is great. I have abstained on account of their 
appearing like preconceptions from saying much to you yet, for 
I want to see more of this country, and to be certain that I 
am quite right before I speak. 

" When you return, I will give you my views on some of the 
great questions of the day. Don't adopt them, hear them and 
compare them with your own. I would have you think for your- 



self, for I am an old man now, and sometimes I distrust my 
powers of mind. 

" The state of this country you, in your situation, ought to be 
thoroughly acquainted with. It is a very perilous one. Its 
prosperity, its integrity, nay its existence as a first-rate power, 
hangs by a thread, and that thread but little better and stronger 
than a cotton one. Quern Deus vult perdere prius dementat. I 
look in vain for that constitutional vigour, and intellectual power, 
which once ruled the destinies of this great nation. 

" There is an aberration of intellect, and a want of self-posses- 
sion here that alarms me. I say, alarms me, for American as I 
am by birth, and republican as I am from the force of circum- 
stances, I cannot but regard England with great interest, and 
with great aifection. "What a beautiful country ! What a 
noble constitution ! What a high-minded, intelligent, and gene- 
rous people ! When the Whigs came into office, the Tories were 
not a party, they were the people of England. Where and what 
are they now ? Will they ever have a lucid interval, or again 
recognise the sound of their own name ? And yet, Sam, doubtful 
as the prospect of their recovery is, and fearful as the conse- 
quences of a continuance of their malady appear to be, one thing 
is most certain, a Tory government is the proper government for a 
monarchy, a suitable one for any country, but it is the only one for 
England. I do not mean an ultra one, for I am a moderate man, 
and all extremes are equally to be avoided. I mean a temperate, 
but firm one: steady to its friends, just to its enemies, and 
inflexible to all. When compelled to yield, it should be by force 
of reason, and never by the power of agitation. Its measures 
should be actuated by a sense of what is right, and not what is 
expedient, for to concede is to recede — to recede is to evince 
weakness — and to betray weakness is to invite attack. 

" I am a stranger here. I do not understand this new word. 
Conservatism. I comprehend the other two, Toryism and Libe- 
ralism. The one is a monarchical, and the other a republican 
word. The term. Conservatism, I suppose, designates a party 
formed out of the moderate men of both sides, or rather, com- 
posed of Low-toned Tories and High Whigs. I do not like to 
express a decided opinion yet, but my first impression is always 
adverse to mixtures, for a mixture renders impure the elements 
of which it is compounded. Everything will depend on the pre- 
ponderance of the wholesome over the deleterious ingredients. I 
will analyse it carefully, see how one neulializes or improves the 
other, and what the effect of the compound is likely to be on the 





constitution. I will request our Ambassador, Everett, or Sam's 
friend, the Minister Extraordinary, Abednego Layman, to intro- 
duce me to Sir Robert Peel, and will endeavour to obtain all pos- 
sible information from the best possible source. 

" On your return I will give you a candid and deliberate 

After a silence of some minutes, during which he walked up 
and down the room in a fit of abstraction, he suddenly paused, 
and said, as if thinking aloud — 

" Hem, hem — so you are going to cross the border, eh ? 
That northern intellect is strong. Able men the Scotch, a little 
too radical in politics, and a Uttle too illiberal, as it is called, in 
a matter of much greater consequence ; but a superior people, 
on the whole. They will give you a warm reception, will the 
Scotch. Your name will ensure that ; and they are clannish; 
and another warm reception will, I assure you, await you here, 
when, returning, you again Cross the Border," 



The first series of this work had scarcely issued from the 
press, when I was compelled to return to Nova Scotia, on urgent 
private affairs. I was fortunately not detained long, and arrived 
again at Liverpool, after an absence of three months. To my 
surprise, I found Mr. Slick at the Liner's Hotel. He was evi- 
dently out of spirits, and even the excitement of my unexpected 
return did not wholly dissipate his gloom. My fears were at 
first awakened for the safety of my excellent friend Mr. Hope- 
well, but I was delighted to find that he was in good health, and 
in no way the cause of Mr. Slick's anxiety. I pushed my in- 
quiries no further, but left it to him to disclose, as I knew he 
would in due time, the source of his grief. His outer man was 
no less changed than his countenance. He wore a dress-coat and 
pantaloons, a gaudy-figured silk waistcoat, black satin stock, and 
Parisian hat. A large diamond brooch decorated his bosom, 
and a heavy gold chain, suspended over his waistcoat, secured 
his watch ; while one of very delicate texture and exquisite 
workmanship supported an eye-glass. To complete the meta- 
morphosis, he had cultivated a very military moustache, and an 



imperial of the most approved size finished the picture. I was 
astonished and grieved beyond measure to find that three short 
mouths had effected such a total change in him. He had set up 
for a man of fashion, and in his failure had made himself, what he 
in his happier days would have called " a caution to sinners." His 
plain unpretending attire, frank rough manners, and sound 
practical good sense, had heretofore dways disarmed criticism, 
and rendered his peculiarities, if not attractive, at least inoffen- 
sive and amusing, inasmuch as altogether they constituted a very 
original and a very striking character. He had now rendered him- 
self ridiculous. It is impossible to express the pain with which ■ 
I contemplated this awkward, over-dressed, vulgar caricature ; 
and the difficulty with which I recognised my old friend the 
Clockmaker in dandy Slick. Dress, however, can be put on 
or laid aside with ease, but fortunately a man's train of thinking 
is not so readily changed. It was a source of great satisfaction 
to me, therefore, to find, as soon as he began to converse, that, 
with the exception of a very great increase of personal vanity, he 
was still himself. 

*' "Well, I am glad to see you again, too. Squire," he said, " it 
railly makes me feel kinder all-overish to shake hands along with 
you oncet more ; and won't Minister feel hand-over-foot in a twit- 
teration when he hears you've come back. Poor dear old critter, 
he loves you like a son ; he says you are the only man that has 
done us justice, and that though you rub us pretty hard some- 
times, you touch up the blue noses, and the British, too, every 
mite and mossel as much, and that it is all done good-natured, 
and no spite or prejudice in it nother. There is no abuse in 
your books, he says. Yes, I am glad to see you, 'cause now I 
have got some one to talk to, that has got some sense, and can 
understand me, for English don't actilly know nothin' out of 
their own diggins. There is a great contrast atween the Old 
and the New World, ain't there? I was talking to John Russel 
the other day about it." 

" Who is he ?" I said ; " is he a skipper of one of the liners ?" 

" Lord love you, no ; he is the great noble — Lord Russel — 
the leadin' Whig statesman. It's only about a week ago I dined 
with him. to Norfolk's — no, it warn't to Norfolk's, it was to 

*' Is that the way," I again asked, '* that you speak of those 
persons ?" 

' iHii't it the way they speak to each other?" said he; 
" doesn't Wellington say, 'Stanley, shall I take wine with you ?' 


< 3 


I i 
i ' 

/ . 






and if they do, why shouldn't I ? It mayn't be proper for a common 
Britisher to say so, because they ain't equal ; but it's proper for 
us, for we are, that's a fact ; and if it wa'n't boastin', superior too, 
(and look at here, who are these bigs bugs now, and what was 
they originally ?) for we have natur's nobility. Lord, I wish 
you could hear Steverman talk of them and their ceremonies." 

" Don't you follow Steverman's example, my good friend," 1 
said *' he has rendered himself very ridiculous by assuming this 
familiar tone. It is very bad taste to talk that way, and no such 
absurd ceremony exists of creating peers, as I understand he says 
there is ; that is a mere invention of his to gratify democratic 
prejudice. Speak of them and to them as you see well-bred 
people in this country do, neither obsequiously nor familiarly, 
but in a manner that shows you respect both them and yourself." 

" Come, I like that talk," said Mr. Slick ; " I'm a candid 
man, I am indeed, and manners is a thing I rather pride myself 
on. I ha'n't had no great schoolin' that way in airly days, but 
movin' in high life, as I do, I want to sustain the honour of our 
great nation abroad ; and if there is a wrong figur' I'm for 
spitten' on the slate, rubbin' it out and puttin' in a right one. 
I'll ask Minister what he thinks of it, for he is a book ; but you, 
('xcuse me. Squire, no offence I hope, for I don't mean none,) 
but you are nothin' but a colonist you see, and don't know every- 
thing. But, as I was sayin', there is a nation sight of difference 
too, ain't there, atween an old and a new country? but come, 
let's go into the coffee-room and sit down, and talk, for sitten' 
is just as cheap as standin' in a general way." 

This spacious apartment was on the right hand of the entrance 
hall, furnished and fitted in the usual manner. Immediately 
behind it was the bar-room, which communicated with it in one 
corner by an open window, and with the hall by a similar 
aperture. In this corner sat or stood the bar-maid for the pur- 
pose of receiving and communicating orders. 

" Look at that gall," said Mr. Slick, ** ain't she a smasher } 
What a tall, well-made, handsome piece of furniture she is, ain't 
she? Look at her hair, ain't it neat ? and her clothes fit so well, 
and are so nice, and her cap so white, and her complexion so 
clear, and she looks so good-natured, and smiles so sweet, it 
does one good to look at her. She is a whole team and a horse 
to spare, that gall, — that's a fact. I go and call for two or three 
glasses of brandy-cocktail more than I want every day, just for 
the sake of talking to her. She always says, * Whi'.t will you 
be pleased to have, Sir?' 'Somethin',' says I, 'that I can't 



have/ lookin' at her pretty mouth about the wickedest ; well, 
she laughs, for she knows what I mean ; and says, * P'r'aps you 
will have a glass of bitters, Sir?' and she goes and gets it. 
Well, this goes on three or four times a day, every time the 
identical same tune, only with variations. 

" About an hour afore you come in 1 was there agin. * What 
will you be pleased to have, Sir?' says she agin, laughin'. 
' Somethin' I can't get,' sais I, a laughin' too, and a smackin' of 
my lips and a lettin' off sparks from my eyes like a blacksmith's 
chimney. *You can't tell that till you try,' says she; 'but 
you can have your bitters at any rate,' and she drawed a glass 
and gave it to me. It tan'te so bad that, is it ? Well, now she 
has seed you before, and knows you very well ; go to her and see 
how nicely she will courtshy, how pretty she will smile, and how 
lady-like she will say, ' How do you do. Sir ? I hope you are 
quite well. Sir ; have you just arrived ? — Here, chambermaid, 
show this gentleman to No. 200. — Sorry, Sir, we are so full, but 
to-morrow we will move you into a better room. — Thomas, take 
up this gentleman's luggage ;' and then she'd courtshy agin, and 
smile handsome. Don't that look well now ? do you want any- 
thing better nor that, eh } if you do, you are hard to please, 
that's all. But stop a bit, don't be in such an everlastin' 
almighty hurry ; think afore you speak ; go there agin — set her 
a smiliu' once more, and look close. It's only skin deep — just 
on the surface, like a cat's paw on the water, it's nothin' but a 
rimple like, and no more; then look closer still and you will 
desearn the colour of it. 

" I see you laugh at the colour of a smile, but still watch and 
you'll see it. Look now, don't you see the colour of the shilling 
there, it's white, and cold, and silvery, — it^s a bought smihy and a 
bought smile, like an artificial flower, has no sweetness in it. 
There is no natur — it's a cheat — it's a pretty cheat — it don't ryle 
you none, but still it's a cheat. It's like whipt cream ; open your 
mouth wide, take it all in, and shut your lips down on it tight, 
and it's nothin' — it's only a mouthful of moonshine ; yes, it's a 
pretty cheat, that's a fact. This ain't confined to the women 
nother. Petticoats have smiles and courtshys, and the trowsers 
bows and scrapes, and my-lords for you, there ain't no great dif- 
ference that way ; so send for the landlord. ' Lardner,' says you, 
* Sir,' says he, and he makes you a cold, low, deep, formal bow, 
as much as to say, * Speak, Lord, for thy sarvent is a dog.' • I 
want to go to church to-morrow,' says you ; ' what church do 
you recommend?' AYell, he eyes you all over, careful, afore he 


'A > 




THE attache; 

answers, so as not to back up a wrong tree. He sees you are 
from t'other side of the water ; he guesses, therefore, you can't 
be a churchman, and must be a radical : and them that calculate 
that way miss a figure as often as not, I can tell you. So he 
takes his cue to please you. ' St. Luke's, Sir, is a fine church, 
and plenty of room, for there ain't no congregation ; M'Neil's 
church has no congregation, nother, in a manner ; you can only 
call it a well-dressed mob, — but it has no room ; for folks go 
there to hear politics.' ' Why what is he ?* says you. ' Oh, a 
churchman,' says he, with a long face as if he was the devil. ♦ No,' 
says you, * I don't mean that ; but what is his politics ?' ' Oh, 
Sir, I am sorry to say, violent — ' * Yes ; but what are they V ' Oh,' 
says he, lookin' awful shocked, ' Tory, Sir.' * Oh, then,* says 
you, * he's just the boy that will suit me, for I am Tory too, to 
the back-bone.* Lardner seems whamble-cropt, scratches his 
head, looks as if he was delivered of a mistake, bows, and walks 
off, a eayin' to himself, *Well, if that don't pass, I swear; who'd 
a thought that cursed long-backed, long-necked, punkin-headed 
colonist was a Churchman and a Tory ? The ugly devil is worse 
than he looks, d — n him.* 

" Arter takin' these two samples out of the bulk, now go to 
Halifax, Nova Scotia, and streak it off to Windsor, hot foot. 
First stage is Bedford Basin. Poor, dear old Marm Bedford, the 
moment she sets eyes on you, is out to meet you in less than half 
no time. Oh, look at the colour of that smile. It's a good 
wholesome reddish-colour, fresh and warm from the heart, and 
it's more than skin-deep, too, for there is a laugh walking arm- 
in-arm with it, lock and lock, that fetches her sides up with a 
hitch at every jolt of it. Then that hand ain't a ghost's hand, I 
can tell you, it's good solid flesh and blood, and it gives you a 
shake that says, * I'm in rail, right down airnest.' * Oh, Squire, 
is that you ? — well, I am glad to see you ; you are welcome home 
agin : — we was most afeered you was goin' to leave us ; folks 
made so much of you t'other side of the water. Well, travellin' 
agrees with you — it does indeed — you look quite hearty agin.' 

" * But, come,' says you, ' sit down, my old friend, and tell me 
the news, for I have seen nobody yet ; ] only landed two hours 
ago. • Well,' she'll say, * the Admiral's daughter's married, and 
the Commissioner's daughter is married :* and then, shuttin' the 
door, * they do say Miss A. is to be married to Colonel B. and 
the widow X. to lawyer V., but I don't believe the last, for she 
is too good for him : he's a low, radical fellow, that, and she has 
too much good sense to take such a creature as him.' * What 



bishop was that I saw here just now V says you. ' A Westindgy 
bishop,' sais she ; * he left half-an-hour ago, with a pair of bosses, 
two servants, three pounds of butter, a dozen of fresh eggs, and a 
basket of blue berries.' But Miss M., what do you think, 
Squire ? she has given Captain Tufthunt the mitten, she haf 
indeed, upon my word ! — fact, I assure you. Ain't it curious^ 
Squire, weddin's is never out of women's heads. They never think 
of nothin' else. A young gall is always thinkin' other own; as 
soon as she is married, she is a match makin' for her companions, 
and when she is a little grain older, her darter's weddin' is upper- 
most agin. Oh, it takes great study to know a woman, — now 
cunnin' they are ! Ask a young gall all the news, she'll tell yon 
of all the deaths in the place, to make you think she don't trouble 
herself about marriages. Ask an old woman, she'll tell you of 
all the marriages to make you think she is takin' an interest in 
the w^orld that she ain't. They sartainly do beat all, do women. 
Well, then, Marm will jump up all of a sudden, and say, ' But, 
dear >r»e, ^hile I am a sitten' here a talkin', there is no orders for 
your lunch ; what will you have, Squire ?' ' What you can't get 
anywhere in first chop style,' says you, 'but in Nova Scotia, and 
never here in perfection but at your house — a broiled chicken 
and blue-nose potatoes.* * Ah !' says she, puttin' up her finger 
and lookin* arch, * now you are makin* fun of us. Squire ?* 
* Upon my soul I am not,' says you, and you may safely swear to 
that too, I can tell you ; for that house has a broiled chicken and 
a potato for a man that's in a hurry to move on, that may stump 
the world. Well, then you'll light a cigar, and stroll out to look 
about the location, for you know every tree, and stone, and brook, 
and hill, about there, as well as you know beans, and they will 
talk to the heart as plain as if they was gifted with gab. Oh, 
home is home, however homely, I can tell you. And as you go 
out, you see faces in the bar-room you know, and it's ' Oh, 
Squire, how are you ? — ^Welcome home agin, — glad to see you 
once more ; how have you had your health in a general way ? 
Saw your folks driven out yesterday — they are all well to home.' 
•' They don't take their hats oif, them chaps, for they ain't 
dependants, like tenants here : most of them farmers are as well 
off as you be, and some on *em better ; but they jist up and give 
you a shake of the daddle, and ain't a bit the less pleased ; your 
books have made 'em better known, I can tell you. They are 
kinder proud of 'em, that's a fact. Then the moment your back 
is turned, what's their talk ? — why it's * Well it's kinder nateral 
to see him back here again among us, ain't it ; he is lookin' weU^ 

p 2 







' 1 

- 1 



' M 








but he is broken a good deal, too ; he don't look so cheerful m 
he used to did, and don't you mind, as he grows older, he looki 
more like his father, too ?^ ' I've heered a good many people 
remark it,' says they. * Where on airth,' says one, • did he get 
all them queer stories he has sot down in his books, and them 
Yankee words, don't it beat all natur ?' * Get them,' says 
another ; * why he is a sociable kind of man, and as he travels 
round the circuits, he happens on a purpose, accidentally like, 
with folks, and sets 'em a talkin*, or makes an excuse to Ught a 
cigar, goes in, sets down and hears all and sees all. I mind, I 
drove him to Liverpool, to court there oncet, and on our way we 
stopt at Sawaway village. Well, I stays out to mind the horse, 
and what does he do but goes in, and scrapes acquaintance with 
Marm — for if there is a man and a woman in the room, petticoats 
is sartain to carry the day with him. Well, when I come back, 
there was him and Marm a standin' up by the mantel-piece, as 
thick as two thieves, a chattin' away as if they had knowed eacli 
other for ever a'most. When she come out, says she, ' Who on 
airth is that man ? he is the most sociable man I ever seed.' 
' That,' says I, ' why it's Lawyer Poker.' * Poker !' says she, in 
great fright, and a rasin' of her voice, ' which Poker, for there is 
two of that name, one that lives to Halifax, and one that lives to 
Windsor ; which is it ?' says she, * tell me this minnit.' * Why,' 
says I, 'him that wrote the " Clockmaker." ' *What, Sam 
Slick ?' says she, and she screamed out at the tip eend of her 
tongue, *0h, my goodies! if I had knowed that I wouldn't have 
gone into the room on no account. They say, though he appears 
to take no notice, nothin' never escapes him ; he hears everything, 
and sees everything, and has his eye in every cubby-hole. Oh, 
dear, dear, here I am with the oldest gownd on I have, with two 
buttons off behind, and my hair not curled, and me a talkin' 
away as if he was only a common man ! It will be all down in 
the next book, see if it ain't. Lord love you, what made you 
bring him here, — I am frighten to death ; oh, dear ! oh, dear ! 
only think of this old gownd ! That's the way he gets them 
stories, he gets them in travellin' .' 

" Oh, Squire, there's a vast difference atween a thick peopled 
and a thin peopled country. Here you may go in and out of a 
bar-room or coffee-room a thousand times and no one will even ax 
who you are. They don't know, and they don't want to know. 
Well then. Squire, just as you are a leaven' of Bedford-house to 
progress to Windsor, out runs black Jim, (you recollect Jim that 
has been there so long, don't you .'') a grinnin' from ear to car 



like a catamount, and opens carriage-door. * Grad to see vou 
back, massa ; miss you a travellin' shocking bad, sar. I like 
your society werry much, you werry good company, sar.' You 

give him a look as much as to say, ' What do vou mean, you 
lack rascal?' and then laugh, 'cause you know he tried to be 
civil, and you give him a shilling, and then Jim shows you two 
rows of ivory, such as they never seed in this country, in all their 
born days. Oh, yes, smile for smile, h -art for heart, kindness 
for kindness, welcome for welcome — give me old Nova Scotia yet ; 
— there ain't nothin like it here." 

There was much truth in the observations of Mr. Slick, but at 
the same time they are not free from error. Strangers can never 
expect to be received in any country with the same cordiality 
friends and old patrons are; and even where the disposition 
exists, if crowds travel, there is but little time that can be spared 
for congratulations. In the main, however, the contrast he has 
drawn is correct, and every colonist, at least, must feel, that this 
sort of civility is more sincere and less mercenary in the new than 
in the old world. 



While strolling about the neighbourhood of the town this 
afternoon, we passed what Colonel Slick would have called 
"several little detachments of young ladies," belonging to a 
boarding-school, each detachment having at its head an officer 
of the establishment. Youth, innocence, and beauty, have 
alwavs great attractions for me ; I Uke young people, 1 delight 
in talking to them. There is a joyousness and buoyancy about 
them, and they are so full of Ufe and hope, it revives my drooping 
spirits, it awakens agreeable recollections, and makes me feel, for 
the time at least, that I am young myself. "Look at those 
beautiful creatures," I said, " Mr. SUck. They seem as happy 
as birds just escaped from a cage." 

" Yes," said he, " and what a cussed shame it is to put 'em 
into a cage at all. In the West Indgies, in old times, every plan- 
tation had a cage for the little niggers, a great large enormous 
room, and all the little darkies was put in there and spoon-fed 
Mrith meal-vittals by some old granny, and they were as fat as 


THE attache; 

chickens and as lively as crickets, (you never see such happy 
little imps of darkness since you was born,) and their mothers 
was sent oif to the fields to work. It saved labour and saved 
time, and labour and time is money, and it warn't a bad con- 
trivance. Well, old Bunton, Joe Sturge, and such sort of cattle 
of the Abolition breed, when they heerd of ibis, went a roarin' 
and a bellowin' about all-over England, like cows that had lost 
their calves, about tbe horrid cruelty of these nigger coops. 

*' Now, these boardin' -schools for galls here is a hundred thou-r 
sand times wuss than the nigger nurseries was. Mothers send 
< their children here cause they are too lazy to tend 'em, or too 
ignorant to teach 'em themselves, or 'cause they want 'em out o' 
the way that they may go into company, and not be kept to 
home by kickin', squeelin', gabblin' brats ; and what do they 
lam here ? why, nothin' that Lhey had ought to, and everything 
that they had ought not to. They don't love their parents, 
'cause they haint got that care, and that fondlin', and protection, 
and that habit that breeds love. Love won't grow in cold 
ground, I can tell you. It must be sheltered from the frost, and 
protected from the storm, and watered with tears, and warmed 
with the heat of the heart, and the soil be kept free from weeds ; 
and it must have support to lean on, and be tended with care 
day and night, or it pines, grows yaller, fades away, and dies. 
It's a tender plant is love, or else I don't know human natur, 
that's all. Well, the parents don't love them nother. Mothers 
can get weaned as well as babies. The same causes a'most makes 
folks love their children, that makes their children love them. 
Whoever liked another man's flower-garden as well as his own ? 
Did you ever see one that did, for I never did ? He haint tended 
it, he haint watched its growth, he haint seed the flowers bud, 
unfold, and bloom. They haint growd up under his eye and hand, 
he haint attached to them, and don't care who plucks 'em. >. 

"And then who can teach religion but a mother? religion is a 
thing of the aff'ections. Lord ! parsons may preach, and clerks 
may make 'spouses for ever, but they won't reach the little heart 
of a little child. All I got, I got from mother, for father 
was so almighty - impatient ; if I made the leastest mistake 
in the world in readin' the Bible, he used to fall to and swear 
like a trooper, and that spiled all. Minister was always kind 
and gentle, but he was old, and old age seems so far off from a 
child, that it Ustens vrith awe, jcary like, and runs away screamin' 
with delight as soon as it's over, and forgets all. Oh ! it's an 
onnatural thing to tear a poor little gall away from home, and 



from all she knows and loves, and shove her into a house of 
strangers, and race off «nd leave her. Oh ! what a sight of little 
chords it must stretch, so that they are never no good arterwards, 
or else snap 'em right short off. How it must harden the heart 
and tread down all the young sproutin' feeUn's, so that they can 
never grow up and ripen. 

" Why, a gall ought to be nothin but a lump of affection, as a 
Mother Carey's chicken is nothin' but a lump of fat ; not that 
she has to love so much, but to endure so much ; not that she 
has to bill and coo all day, for they plaguy soon get tired of 
that ; but that she has to give up time and give up inclination, 
and alter her likes and alter her dislikes, and do everythin' and 
bear everythin', and all for affection. She ought to love, so that 
duty is a pleasure, for where there is no love there will be no 
duty done right. You wouldn't hear of so many runaway matches 
if it warn't for them cussed boardin' -schools, 1 know. A young 
chap sees one of these angeliferous galls a goin' a walkin', and 
inquires who she is and what she is. He hears she has a great 
forten', and he knows she has great beauty — splendid gall she is, 
too. She has been taught to stand strait and walk strait, like a 
drill-sarjeant. She knows how to get into a carriage and show 
no legs, and to get out o' one as much onlike a bear and as much 
Uke a lady as possible, never starn fust, but like a diver, head 
fust. She can stand in fust, second, or third position to church, 
and hold her book and her elbous graceful — very important 
church lessons them too, much more than the lessons parsons 
reads. Then she knows a little tiny prayer-book makes a big hand 
look hugeaceous, and a big one makes it look small ; and, besides, 
she knows all about smiles, the smile to set with or walk with, the 
smile to talk with, the smile o' surprise, the smile scorney, and 
the smile piteous. She is a most accomplished gall, that's a fact, 
how can it be otherwise in natur ? Aint she at a female seminary, 
where, though the mistress don't know nothin', she can teach 
everythin', 'cause it's a fashionable school, and very aristocratic 
and very dear. It must be good, it costs so much ; and you 
can't get nothin' good without a good price, that's a fact. 

**Well, forten' -hunter watches and watches till he attracts 
attention, and the moment she looks at him his eye tells her he 
loves her. Creation, man ! you might as well walk over a desert 
of gunpowder, shod with steel soles and flint heels, as to tell that 
to a gall for the fust time, whose heart her school-mistress and 
her mother had both made her feel was empty, and that all her 
education went to write on a paper and put in its window 


THE attache; 


* Lodgin's to let here for a single man.' She is all in a conflus- 
tugation in a minute — a lover ! — a real lover too, not a school- 
boy, but an elegant young man, just such a one as she had heered 
tell of in novels. How romantic, ain't it ? and yet. Squire, how 
nateral too, for this poor desarted gall to think like a fool fust, 
and act like a fool arterwards, ain't it ? She knows she warn't 
made to grow alone, and that like a vine she ought to have sun- 
thin' to twine round for support ; and when she sees this man, 
the little tendrils of her heart incline right that way at oncet. 

" But then love never runs smooth. How in the world are 
they ever to meet, seein' that there is a great high brick wall 
atween them, and fhe is shot up most o' the time ? Ah ! there 
is the rub. Do you know, dear ? There is but one safe way, 
loveliest of women, only one, — run away. Run away ! that's an 
awful word, it frightens her most to death ; she goes right off 
to bed and cries like anything, and that clears her head and she 
thinks it all over, for it won't do to take such a step as that 
without considerin', will it ? * Let me see,' says she, * suppose I 
do go, what do I leave ? A cold, formal, perlite mistress, horrid 
pitikelar, and horrid vexed when men admire her boarders more 
than her ; a taunten' or a todyin' assistant, and a whole rege- 
ment of dancin' masters, musick masters, and French masters. 
Lessons, lessons, lessons, all for the head and nothin' for the 
heart ; hard work and a prison-house, with nothin' to see but 
feller prisoners a pinin' through the bars like me. And what do 
I run for? Why, an ardent, passionate, red-hot lover, that is to 
love me all my life, and more and more every day of my life, and 
who will shoot himself or drown himself if I don't, for he can't 
live without me, and who has glorious plans of happiness, and is 
sure of success in the world, and all that. It taint racin' off 
from father and mother nother, for they ain't here ; an' besides, 
I am sure and sartain they will be reconciled in a minute, when 
they hear what a splendid match I have made, and what a dear 
beautiful man I have married.' It is done. 

" Ah 1 where was old marm then, that the little thing could 
have raced back and nestled in her bosom, and throw' d her arms 
round her neck, and put her face away back to her ears to hide 
her blushes ? and say * dear ma', I am in love / and that she 
agin could press her up to her heart, and kiss her, and cry with 
her, and kind o' give way at fust, so as not to snub her too short 
at oncet, for fear of rearin', or kickin', or backin', or sulkin', but 
gentle, little by little, jist by degrees get her all right agin. Oh I 
where was mother's eye when fortin' -hunter was a scalin' the 



brick-wall, that it might see the hawk that was a l,ireatenin' 
of her chicken ; and where was old father with his gun to scare 
him off, or to wing him so he could do no harm ? Why, mother 
was a dancin' at Almack's, and father was a huntin' ; then it 
sarves 'em right, the poacher has been into the presarve and 
snared the bird, and I don't pity 'em one mossel. 

"Well, time runs away as well as lovers. In nine days 
pnppies and bridegrooms begin to get their eyes open in a 
general way. It taint so easy for brides, they are longer about 
it ; but they do see at last, and when they do, it's about the 
clearest. So, one fine day, poor little miss begins to open her 
peepers, and the fust thing she disams is a tired, lyin' lover — 
promises broke that never was meant to be kept, — hopes as false 
as vows, and a mess of her own makin', that's pretty considerable 
tarnation all over. Oh ! how she sobs, and cries, and guesses 
she was wrong, and repents ; and then she writes home, and 
begs pardon, and, child-like, says she will never do so again. 
Poor crittur, it's one o' them kind o' things that can't be done 
agin — oncet done, done for ever ; yes, she begs pardon, but 
father won't forgive, for he has bfien larfed at ; mother won't 
forgive, 'cause she has to forgive herself fust, and that she can't 
do ; and both won't forgive, for it's settin' a bad example. All 
doors behind the poor little wretch are closed, and there is but 
one open before her, and that looks into a churchyard. They are 
nice little places to stroll in, is buryin' -grounds, when you ain't 
nothin' to do but read varses on tomb-stones ; but it taint every 
one likes to go there to sleep with the silent fo'ks that's onder 
ground, I can tell you. It looks plaguy like her home that's pre- 
pared for her though, for there is a little spot on the cheek, and 
a little pain in the side, and a little hackin' cough, and an eye 
sometimes watery, and sometimes hectic bright, and the sperits 
is all gone. Well, I've seed them signs sojoften, I know as well 
what follows, as if it was rain arter three white frosts, melancholy 
— consumption — a broken heart, and the grave. — This is the 
fruit of a boarding-school; beautiful fruit, ain't it? It ripened 
afore its time, and dropt off the tree airly. The core was eaten by 
a worm, and that worm was bred in a boardin' -school. 

" Lord, what a world this is ! We have to think in harness as 
well as draw in harness. We talk of this government being free, 
and that government being free, but fashion makes slaves of us 
all. If we don't obey we ain't civilized. You must think with 
the world, or go out of the world. Now, in the high life I've 
been movin' in lately, we must swear by Shakspeare whether we 




have a taste for plays or not, — swaller it in a lump, like a bolus, 
obscene parts and all, or we have no soul. We must go into fits 
if Milton is spoke of, though we can't read it if we was to die for 
it, or we have no tastes ; such is high life, and high life governs 
low life. 

" Every Englishman and every American that goes to the Con- 
tinent must admire Paris, its tawdry theatres, its nasty filthy 
parks, its rude people, its cheaten' tradesmen ; its horrid formal 
parties, its affected politicians, its bombastical braggin' officers 
and all. If they don't they are vulgar wretches that don't know 
nothin', and can't tell a fricaseed cat from a stewed frog. Let 
'em travel on and they darsn't say what they think of them 
horrid, stupid, oncomfortable, gamblin' Garman waterin' -places 
nother. Oh, no ! fashion says you can't. 

"It's just so with these cussed boardin' -schools ; you must 
swear by 'em, or folks will open their eyes and say, * Where was 
you raird, young man ? Does your mother know you are out V 
Oh, dear! how many gals they have ruined, how many folks 
they have fooled, and how many famihes they have capsised, so 
they never was righted agin. It taint no easy matter, I can tell 
you, for folks of small forten to rig a gal out for one o' these 
seminaries that have the sign * man-traps set here,' stuck over 
the door. It costs a considerable of a sum, which in middlin' 
life is a little forten like. Well, half the time a gal is allowed to 
run wild 'till she is fourteen years old, or thereabouts, browsin' 
here and browsin', there, and jumpin' out of this pastur' into that 
pastur' like mad. Then she is run down and catched : a bearin' 
rein put on her to make her carry up her head well ; a large bit 
put atween her teeth to give her a good mouth, a cersingle belt 
strapt tight round her waist to give her a good figur', anda dancin'- 
master hired to give her her pace.' and off she is sent to a boardin'- 
school to get the finishin' touch. There she is kept for three, or 
four, or five years, as the case may be, till she has larnt what 
she ought to have knowed at ten. Her edication is then slicked 
off complete ; a manty-maker gets her up well, and she is sent 
back to home with the Tower stamp on her, ' edicated at a 
boardin'-school.' She astonishes the natives round about where 
the old folks live, and makes 'em stare agin, she is so improved. 
She plays beautiful on the piano, two pieces, they were crack 
pieces, lamed onder the eye and ear of the master ; but there is a 
secret nobody knows but her, she can't play nothin' else. She 
sings two or three songs, the last lessons larnt to school, and 
the last she ever will lam. She has two or three beautiful 



drawin's, but there is a secret here, oo ; the master finished 'em 
and she can't do another. She speaks French beautiful, but it's 
fortunate she aint in France now, so that secret is safe. She is 
a very agreeable gal, and talks very pleasantly, for she has seen 
the world. 

** She was to London for a few weeks ; saw the last play, and 
knows a great deal about the theatre. She has been to the 
opera oncet, and has seen Celeste and Fanny Estler, and heard 
La Blache and Grisi, and is a judge of dancin' and singin'. She 
saw the Queen a horseback in the Park, and is a judge of ridin' ; 
and was at a party at Lady Syllabub's, and knows London life. 
This varnish lasts a whole year. The two new pieces wear out, 
and the songs get old, and the drawin's everybody has seed, and 
the London millinery wants renewin', and the Queen has another 
Princess, and there is another singer at the Opera, and all is gone 
but the credit, * she was edicated at a boardin'-school.''' 

" But that ain't that the wust nother, she is never no good 
arterwards. If she has a great forten, it ain't so much matter, 
for rich folks can do what they please ; but if she ain't, why a 
head oncet turned like a stifle-joint oncet put out in a horse, it 
ain't never quite right agin. It will take a sudden twist agin 
when you least expect it. A taste for dress — a taste for company 
— a taste for expense, and a taste for beaux was larnt to boardin'- 
school, and larnt so well it's never forgot. A taste for no house- 
keepin', for no domestic affairs, and for no anythin' good or use- 
ful, was larnt to boar din' -school too, and these two tastes bein' 
kind o' rudiments, never wear out and grow rusty. 

" Well, when Miss comes home, when old father and marm 
go to lay down the law, she won't take it from 'em, and then 
• there is the devil to pay and no pitch hot.' She has been 
away three years, may be five, and has lamed ' the rights o' 
women,' and the duties of ' old fogeys' of fathers, and expects to 
be her own mistress, and theirn too. Obey, indeed ! Why should 
she obey ?— Haint she come of age ? — Haint she been to a female 
seminary and got her edication finished? I'ts a runnin' fight 
arter that ; sometimes she's brought to, and sometimes, bein' a 
clipper, she gets to windward herself, and larfs at the chase. 
She don't answer signals no more, and why 1 all young ladies 
voted it a bore at * the boardin' -school? 

'* What a pretty wive that critter makes, don't she ? — 
She never heerd that husband and wives was made for each 
other, but only that husbands was made for wives. — She never 
heerd that home meant anything but a house to see company 



I \- 



in, or that a puss had any eend to it but one, and that was for 
the hand to go in. Heavens and airth ! the feller she catches 
will find her a man-trap, I know — and one, too, that will hold on 
like grim death to a dead nigger, — one that he can't lose the grip 
of, and can't pull out of, but that's got him tight and fast for 
ever and ever. If the misfortunate wretch has any children, 
like their dear mamma, they in their turn are packed ofF to be 
edicated and ruined,— to be finished and bedeviled, body and 
soul, to a boardin* -school." 




The following morning, Mr. Slick, who always made much 
greater despatch at his meals than any man I ever saw, called for 
the daily newspaper before I had half finished my breakfast. 
** Cotton's ris," said he, " a penny a pound, and that's a'most 
four dollars a bale or so ; I'm five thousand dollars richer than I 
was yesterday mornin.' I knowd this must be the case in course, 
for I had an account of last year's crop, and I lamt what stock 
was on hand here, so I spekilated the other day, and bought a 
considerable passel. I'll put it off to-day on the enemy. 
Gauliopilus ! if here ain't the Great Western a comin' in ;" 
and he threw down the paper with an air of distress, and 
sat for some time wholly absorbed vnth some disagreeable 
subject. After a while he rose and said, '* Squire, will you 
take a walk down to the docks along virith me, if you've 
done breakfast. I'll introduce you to a person you've often 
heerd tell of, but never saw afore. Father's come. — I never was 
so mad in all my life. — What on airth shall I do vnth the old 
man here — but it sarves me right, it all comes of my crackin' 
and boastin' so, in my letters to sister Sal, of my great doings to 
London. Dear, dear, how provokin' this is ! I ain't a critter 
that's easy scared off, but I swear to man I feel vastly more 
like scooterin' off than spunkin' up to face him, that's a fact. 
You know. Squire, I am a man of fashion now ;" and here he 
paused for a while and adjusted his shirt collar, and then took 
a lingering look of admiration at a large diamond ring on his fore- 
finger, before its light was extinguished by the glove — '* I'm a 
man of fashion now ; I move in the first circles ; my /position in 



society is about as tall as any citizen of our country ever had ; 
and I must say I feel kinder proud of it. 

"But, heavens and airth what shall I do with father? I 
wam't broughten up to it myself, and if I hadn't a been as soople 
as moose wood, I couldn't have gotten the inns and outs of high 
life as I have. As it was, I most gi'n it up as a bad job : but 
now I guess I am as well dressed a man as any you see, use a 
silver fork as if it was nothin' but wood, wine with folks as 
easy as the best on 'em, and am as free and easy as if I 
was to 1- me. It's ginirally allowed 1 go the whole figure, 
and do the thing genteel. But father, airth and seas! he 
never see nothin' but Slickville, for Bunkerhill only lasted one 
night and a piece of next day, and continental troops warn't like 
Broadway or west-eend folks, I tell you. Then he's consider- 
able hard of heerin', and you have to yell a thing out as loud as 
a trainin'-gun afore he can understand it. He swears, too, 
enough for a whole court-house when he's mad. He larnt that 
in the old war, it was a fashion then, and he's one o' them that 
won't alter nothin'. But that ain't .the worst nother, he has 
some o' them country-fied ways that ryle the Britishers so much. 
He chaws tobaccy like a turkey, smokes all day long, and puts 
his legs on the table, and spits like an enjine. Even to Slick- 
ville these revolutionary heroes was always reckoned behind the 
age; but in the great world, like New York, or London, or 
Paris, where folks go a- head in manners as well as everything 
else, why it won't go dowr no longer. I'me a peaceable man 
when I'me good-natured, but I'me ugly enough when I'me 
ryled, I tell you. Now folks will stuboy father, and set him on 
to make him let out jist for a laugh, and if they do, I'me into 
them as sure as rates. I'll clear the room, I'll be switched if I 
don't. No man shall insult father, and me standin' by, without 
catchin' it, I know. For old, deaf, and rough as he is, he is 
father, and that is a large word when it is spelt right. — Yes, let 
me see the man that will run arigg on him, and by the Tamal — " 

Here he suddenly paused, and turning to a man that was 
passing, said, "What do you mean by that ?" "What?" *' Why 
runnin' agin me, you had better look as if you didn't, hadn't 
you ?" " You be hanged," said the man, " I didn't touch you." 
" D — n you," said Mr. Slick, " I'll knock you into the middle of 
nejgt week." *' Two can play at that game," said the stranger, 
and in a moment they were both in attitude. Catching the 
latter' s eye, I put my finger to my forehead, and shook my head. 
"Ah!" said he, "poor fellow! I thought so," and walked 



; , 





THE attache; 


away. "You thought so," said Mr. Slick, "did you? "Well 
it's lucky you found it out afore you had to set down the figures, 
I can tell you." 

" Come, come," I said, " Mr. Slick, I thought you said you 
were a man of fashion, and here you are trying to pick a quarrel 
in the street." 

" Fashion, Sir," said he, '* it is always my fashion to fight 
when I' me mad ; but I do suppose, as you say, a street quarrel 
ain't very genteel. Queen might hear it, and it would lower our 
great nation in the eyes of foreigners. When I'm ready to bust, 
tho', I like to let off steam, and them that's by must look out for 
scaldings, that's all. I am ryled, that's a fact, and it's enough 
to put a man out of sorts to have this old man come a tram- 
pousin' here, to set for a pictur to Dickens or some other print 
maker, and for me to set by and hear folks a snickering at it. 
If he will go a buU-draggin' of me about, I'll resign and go right 
off home agin, for he'll dress so like old Scratch, we shall have a 
whole crowd arter our heels whichever way we go. I'me a gone 
sucker, that's a fact, and shall have a muddy time of it. Pity, 
too, for I am gettin' rather fond of high life ; I find I have a 
kinder nateral taste for good society. A good tuck out every 
day, for a man that has a good appetite, ain't to be sneezed at, 
and as much champagne, and hock, and madeiry as you can well 
carry, and cost you nothin' but the trouble of eatin' and drinkin', 
to my mind is better than cuttiu' your' own fodder. At first I 
didn't care much about wine ; it warn't strong enough, and didn't 
seem to have no flavour, but taste improves, and I am a consi- 
derable judge of it now. I always used to think champaigne no 
better nor mean cider, andp'r'aps the imertation stuff we make to 
New York ain't, but if you get the clear grit there is no mistake 
in it. Lick, it feels handsome, I tell you. Sutherland has the 
best I've tasted in town, and it's iced down to the exact p'int 
better nor most has it." 

" Sutherland's," I said, "is that the hotel near Mivart's ?" 

" Hotel, indeed !" said he, " whoever heer'd of good wine at 
an hotel ? and if he did hear of it, what a fool he'd be to go drink 
it there and pay for it, when he can dine out and have it all free 
gratis for nothin'. Hotel, indeed ! ! — no, it's the great Duke of 
Sutherland's. The ' Socdolager' and I dine there often." 

" Oh ; the Duke of Sutherland," said I ; " now I understand 

you." ■ , ...M.,,; 

"And I," he replied, "understand you now, too, Squire. 
Why, in the name of sense, if you wanted to c'rect me, did you 



go all round about and ax so many questions ? Why didn't you 
come straight up to the mark, and say that word ' Sutherland' 
has slipt oiFits handle, and I'd a fixt the helve into the eye, and 
put a wedge into it to fasten it in my memory. I do like a man 
to stand up to hit lick log, but no matter. 

"Well, as I was a sayin', his champagne is the toploftiest I've 
seen. His hock ain^t quite so good as Bobby Peel's (I mean 
Sir Robert Peel). Lord, he has some from Joe Hannah's — Bug 
Mettemich's vineyard oa the Rhine. It is very sound, has a 
tall flavour, a good body, and a special handsome taste. It beats 
the Bug*s, I tell you. High life is high life, that's a fact, espe- 
cially for a single man, for it costs him nothin' but for his bed, 
and cab-hire, and white gloves. He lives like a pet rooster, and 
actilly saves his board. To give it all up ain't no joke ; but if 
this old man will make a show — for I shall feel as striped as a 
rainbow — of himself, I'me off right away, I tell you — I won't 
stand it, for he is my father, and what's more, I can't, for (draw- 
ing himself up, composing his moustache, and adjusting his col- 
ar) / am * Sam Slick.' " 

" What induced him," I said, " at his advanced age, to * tempt 
the stormy deep,' and to leave his comfortable home to visit a 
country against which I have often heard you say he had very 
strong prejudices ?" 

" I can't just 'xactly say what it is," said he, ** it's a kind of 
mystery to me, — it would take a great bunch of cipherin' to find 
that out, — but I'me afeerd it's my foolish letters to sister Sal, 
Squire, for I'll tell you candid, I've been braggin' in a way that 
ain't slow to Sal, c^use I knowed it would please her, and women 
do like most special to have a crane to hang their pot-hooks on, 
so I thought my ' brother Sam' would make one just about the 
right size. If you'd a-seen my letters to her, you wouldn't 
a-scolded about leaving out titles, I can tell you, for they are all 
put in at tandem length. They are full of Queen and Prince, and 
Lords and Dukes, and Marquisas and Markees, and Sirs, and the 
Lord knows v/ho. She has been astonishin' the natives to Slick- 
ville with Sam and the Airl, and Sam and the Dutchess, and 
Sam and the Baronet, and Sam and the Devil, and I intended she 
should ; but she has turned poor old father's head, and that I 
didn't intend she should. It sarves me right though, — I had no 
business to brag, for though brag is a good dog, hold-fast is a 
better one. But Willis bragged, and Rush bragged, and Ste- 
phenson bragged, and they all bragged of the Lords they knowed 
to England ; and then Cooper bragged of the Lords he refused to 




I I 


THE attache; 

know there ; and vhen they returned every one stared at them, 
and said, ' Oh, he knows nobility, — or he is so great a man he 
wouldn't touch a noble with a pair of tongs.' So I thought I'd 
brag a little too, so as to let poor Sal say my brother Sam went 
a-head of them all. There was no great harm in it arter all. 
Squire, was there ? You know, at IciriC, in a family where none 
but household is by, why we do let out sometimes, and say nobody 
is good enough for Sal, and nobody rich enough for Sam, and the 
Slicks are the first people in Slickville, and so on. It's innoc^it 
and nateral too, for most folks think more of themselves in a 
gineral way than any one else does. But, Lord love you, there is 
no calculatin' on women, — they are the cause of all the evil in the 
world. On purpose or on accident, in temper or in curiosity, by 
hook or by crook, some how or another, they do seem as if they 
couldn't help doin' mischief. Now, here is Sal, as good and 
kind-hearted a crittur as ever lived, has gone on boastin' till she 
has bust the byler. She has made a proper fool of poor old 
father, and e'en a-jist ruined me. I'me a gone coon now, that's 
a fact. Jist see this letter of father's, tellin' me he is a-comin' 
over in the ' Western.' If it was any one else's case, I should 
haw-haw right out i but now its come home, I could boo-hoo with 
spite a'most. Here it is, — no that's not it nother, that's an invite 
from Melb. — Lord Melbourne — no this is it, — no it tainte nother, 
that's from Lord Brougham, — no, it's in my trunk, — I'll show it 
to you some other time. I can't 'xactly fathom it : it's a ditch I 
can't jist pole over ; he's got some crotchet in his head, but the 
Lord only knows what. I was proud of father to Slickville, and 
so was every one, for he was the makin' of the town, and he was 
one of our old veterans too ; but here, somehow or another, it 
sounds kinder odd to have a man a crackin' of himself up as a 
Bunker Hill, or a revolutionary hero." 



1 hi..' 

As soon as the * Great Western' was warped into dock I left 
Mr. Slick, and returned to the hotel. His unwillingness to meet 
his father I knew arose from the difference of station in which 
they were adventitiously placed ; his pride was evidently wounded, 
and I was reluctant to increase his mortification by witnessing 



their first interview. I did not see them until the following day, 
when we were about to depart for London. It was evident, 
from the appearance of the Colonel, that his son had caused his 
whole attire to be changed, for it was perfectly new, and not 
unlike that of most persons of his age in England. He was an 
uncultivated man, of rough manners and eccentric habits, and 
very weak and vain. He had not kept pace with the age in 
which he lived, and was a perfect specimen of a colonist of the 
rural districts of Connecticut sixty years ago. I had seen many 
such persons among the loyalists, or refugees as they were called, 
who had followed the troops at the peace of 1784 to Nova Scotia. 
Although quite an original therefore in England, there was but 
little of novelty either in his manner, appearance, or train of 
thought, to me. Men who have a quick perception of the ludi- 
crous in others, are always painfully and sensitively alive to 
ridicule themselves. Mr. Slick, therefore, watched his father 
with great uneasiness during our passage in the train to town, 
and to prevent his exposing his ignorance of the world, engrossed 
the whole conversation. 

" There is a change in the fashion here. Squire," said he ; 
" black stocks aint the go no longer for full dress, and white ones 
aint quite up to the notch nother ; to my mind they are a leetle 
sarvantv. A man of fashion n ;ist mind his 'eye' always. I 
guess 1 11 send and get some white muslins, but then the diffi- 
culty is to tie them neat. Perhaps nothin' in natur' is so difficult 
as to tie a white cravat so as not to rumfoozle it or sile it. It 
requires quite a slight of hand, that's a fact. I used to get our 
beautiful little chamber-help to do it when I first come, for 
women's fingers aint all thumbs like men's ; but the angeliferous 
dear was too short to reach up easy, so I had to stand her on the 
foot-stool, and that was so tottlish I had to put one hand on 
one side of her waist, and one on t'other, to steedy her like, and 
that used to set her little heart a beatin' like a drum, and kinder 
agitated her, and it maf^e me feel sort of all overish too, so we 
had to ginn it up, for it took too long ; we never could tie the 
knot under half an hour. But then, practice makes perfect, and 
that's a fact. If a feller * minds his eye' he will soon catch the 
knack, for the eye must never be let go asleep, except in bed. 
Lord, its in little things a man of fashion is seen in ! Now 
how many ways there be of eatin' an orange. First, there's 
my way when I'm alone ; take a bite out, suck the juice, tear off 
a piece of the hide and eat it for digestion, and role up the rest 
into a ball and give it a shy into the street ; or, if other folks is 



THE attache; 

by, jist take a knife and cut it into pieces ; or if gals is present, 
strip him down to his waist, leavin' his outer f^arment hanging 
graceful over his hips, and his upper man standin' iu his beauti- 
ful shirt ; or else quartern him, with hands off, neat, scientific, 
and workmanlike ; or, if it's forbidden fruit's to be carved, whv 
tearin' him with silver forks into good sizeable pieces for helpin . 
All this is lamt by mindin* your eye. And now, Squire, let me 
tell you, for nothin scapes me a'most, tho' I say it that shouldn't 
say it, but still it taint no vanity in me to say that nothin' never 
escapes me. / mind my eye. And now let me tell vou there 
aint no maxim in natur' hardly equal to that one. Folks may go 
crackin' and braggin' of their knowledge of Phisionomy, or their 
skill in Phrenology, but it's all moonshine. A feller can put on 
any phiz he likes and deceive the devil himself ; and as for a 
knowledge of bumps, why natur' never intended them for signs, 
or she wouldn't have covered 'em all over with hair, and put 
them out of sight. "Who the plague will let you be puttin' yonr 
fingers under their hair, and be a foozlin' of their heads ? If it's 
a man, why he'll knock you down, and if it's a gal, she will look 
to her brother, as much as to say, if this sassy feller goes a 
feelin' of my bumps, I wish you would let your foot feel a bump 
of his'n, that will teach him better manners, that's all. No, it's 
*all in my eye.' You must look there for it. Well, then, some 
fellers and especially painters, go a ravin' and a pratiu' about the 
mouth, the expression of the mouth, the seat of all the emotions, 
the speakin' mouth, the large print of the mouth, and such 
stuff : and others are for everlastingly a lecturin' about the nose, 
the expression of the nose, the character of the nose, and so on, 
jist as if the nose was anything else but a speekin' trumpet that 
a sneeze blows thro', and the snuffles give the rattles to, or that 
cant uses as a flute ; I wouldn't give a piece of tobacky for the 
nose, except to tell me when my food was good : nor a cent for 
the mouth, except as a kennel for the tongue. But the eye is 
the boy for me ; there's no mistake there ; study that well, and 
you will read any man's heart, as plain as a book. ' Mind your 
eye' is the maxim you may depend, either with man or woman. 
Now I will explain this to you, and give you a rule, with ex- 
amples, as Minister used to say to night school, that's wortli 
knowing I can tell you. 'Mind your eye' is the rule; now for 
the examples. Furst, let's take men, and then women. Now, 
Squire, the first railroad that was ever made, was made by natur'. 
It runs from the heart to the eye, and it goes so almighty fast, 
it can't be compared to nothin' but iied lightening. The moment 



the heart opens its doors, out jumps an emotion, whips into a 
car, and offs like wink to the eye. That's the station-house and 
terminus for the passengers, and every passenger carries a lantern 
in his hand as bright as an Argand lamp ; you can see him ever 
80 far off. Look, therefore, to the eye, if there aint no lamp 
there, no soul leaves the heart that hitch ; there ain't no train 
runnin*. and the station-house is empty. It taint every one that 
knows this, but as I said before, nothm' never 'scapes me, and I 
have proved it over and over agin. Smiles can be put on and off 
like a wig ; sweet expressions come and go like shades and lights 
in natur' ; the hands will squeeze like a fox-trap ; the body 
bends most graceful ; the ear will be most attentive ; the manner 
will flatter, so you're enchanted ; and the tongue will lie Hke the 
devil — but the eye, never. And yet there are all sorts of eyes. 
There's an onmeanin' eye, and a cold eye ; a true eye, and a 
false eye ; a sly eye, a kickin' eye, a passionate eye, a revengeful 
eye, a manceuvering eye, a joyous eye, and a sad eye ; a squintin' 
eye, and the evil eye ; and, above all, the dear little lovin' eye, 
and so forth. They must be studied to be larnt, but the two 
important ones to be known are the true eye and the false eye. 
Now what do you think of that statesman that you met to dinner 
yesterday, that stuck to you like a burr to a sheep's tail, n-^ kin' 
such an interest in your books and in colony govemm. nts and 
colonists as sweet as sugar-candy ? What did you think of him, 

" I thought him," I said, " a well-informed gentlemanlike 
man, and I believe him to be a sincere friend of mine. I have 
received too many civilities from him to doubt his sincerity, 
especially as I have no claims upon him whatever. I am an un- 
known, obscure, and humble, man ; above all, I am a stranger 
and a colonist ; his attentions, therefore, must be disinterested." 

" That's all you know. Squire," said he, "he is the greatest 
humbug in all England. I'll tell you what he wanted : — He 
wanted to tap you ; he wanted information ; he wanted your 
original views for his speech for Parliament ; in short, he wanted 
to know if Nova Scotia was in Canada or New Brunswick, with- 
out the trouble of looking it out in the map. You didn't mind 
his eye ; it warn't in tune with his face ; the last was up to 
consart pitch, and t'other one several notes lower. He was 
readin' you. His eye was cold, abstracted, thoughtful : it had 
no Argand lamp in it. He'll use you, and throw you away. 
You can't use him, if you was to try. You are one of the sticks 
used by politicians ; he is the hand that holds you. You sup- 




??" I 




port him, he is of no good to you. When you cease to answer 
his purpose he lays you aside and takes another. He has ' a 
manoevring eye.* The eye of a politician is like that of an old 
lawyer, a sort of spider-eye. Few things resembles each other 
more in natur*, than an old cunnin' lawyer and a spider. 'Hs 
weaves his web in a comer with no light behind him to show the 
thread of his nest, but in the shade like, and then he waits in 
the dark office to receive visitors. A buzzin', burrin,' thought- 
less, fly, thinkin' of nothin* but his beautiful wings, and well- 
made legs, and rather near-sighted withal, comes stumblin' head 
over heels into the net. * I beg your pardon,' says fly, * I reely 
didn't see this net-work of yours ; the weather is so foggy, and 
the streets so confounded dark — they ought to bum gas here all 
day. I am afraid I have done mischief.' 'Not at all,' says 
spider, bo win' most gallus purlite, * I guess it's all my fault ; I 
reckon I had ought to have hung a lamp out ; but pray don't 
move or you may do dammage. Allow me to assist you.' And 
then he ties one leg and then t'other, and furls up both his 
wings, and has him as fast as Gibraltar. ' Now,' says spider, 
• my good friend (a phrase a feller always uses when he's a-goin, 
to be tricky), I am afeard you have hurt yourself a considerable 
sum ; I must bleed you.' * Bleed me,' says fly, ' excuse me, I 
am much obliged to you, I don't require it.' ' Oh, yes, you do, 
my dear friend,' he says, and he gets ready for the operation. 
' If you dare to do that,' says fly, ' I'll knock you down you 
scoundrel, and I'me a man that what I lay down I stand on.' 
' You had better get up first, my good friend,' says spider a- 
laughin'. * You must be bled ; you must pay damages ;' and 
he bleeds him, and bleeds him, and bleeds him, till he gasps for 
breath, and feels faintin* come on. * Let me go, my good feller,' 
says poor fly, ' and I will pay liberally.' * Pay,' says spider ; 
' you miserable oncircumcised wretch, you have nothin' left to 
pay with ; take that,' and he gives him the last dig, and fly is a 
gone coon — bled to death. 

"The politician, the lawyer, and the spider, they are all alike, 
they have the mancevering eye. Beware of these I tell you. Mind 
your eye. Women is more difficulter still to read than man, 
because smilin' comes as nateral to them as suction to a snipe. 
Doin' the agreeable is part of their natur', specially afore folks 
(for sometimes they do the Devil to home). The eye tho' is 
the thing to tell 'em by, it's infallible, that's a fact. There is two 
sorts of women that have the *mancEvering eye' — one that's 
false and imprudent, and t'other that's false and cautious. Tlie 



first is soon found out, by them that live much with them ; but I 
defy old Scratch himself to find the other out without * mindin* 
his eye.' I knowed two such women to Slickville, one was all 
smiles and graces, oh ! she was as sweet as candy ; oh ! dear, 
how kind she was. She used to kiss me, and oncet gave me the 
astmy for a week, she hugged me so. She called me dear Sam, 

" « Oh ! Sammy dear,* says she, * how do you do 1 How is 
poor dear old Minister, and the Colonel, your father, is he well ? 
Why don't you come as you used to did to see us ? Will you 
stay dinner to-day ?— do, that's a good fellow. I thought you 
was oiFended, you staid away so lon^.' • Well, I don't care if 
I do,' says I, * seein' that I have nothm' above particular to do ; 
but I must titivate up a leetle first, so I'll jist go into the boy's 
room and smarten a bit.' Well, when I goes in, I could hear 
her, thro' the partition, say, 'What possesses that critter to 
come here so often ? he is for ever a botherin' of us ; or else 
that stupid old Minister comes a prosin' and a potterin' all day ; 
and as for his father, he is the biggest fool in the whole State, 
eh ?' Heavens and airth, how I curled inwardly I I felt all up 
an eend. Father the biggest fool in the State, eh ? * No, you 
are mistaken there, old crocodile,' says I to myself. ' Father's 
own son is the tallest fool for allowing of himself to be tooken in 
this way by you. But keep cool, Sam,' says I to myself, ' bite 
in your breath, swaller it all down, and sarve her out her own 
way. Don't be in debt, pay all back, principal and interest ; 
get a receipt in full, and be a free man.' So when I went back, 
oh I din't I out-smile her, and out-compliment her ; and when 
I quit, didn't I return her kiss so hard, she said, * oh !' and looked 
puzzled, as if I was goin' to be a fool and fall in love. * Now,' 
says I, * Sam, study that screech-owl in petticoats, and see how 
it was you was so took in.' Well, I watched, and watched, and 
at last I found it out. It bust on me all at once, like. I hadn't 
'minded her eye.' I saw the face and manner was put on so well, 
it looked quite nateral, but the eye had no passengers from the 
heart. Truth warn't there. There was no lamp, it was ' a ma- 
ncBvering eye.* Such critters are easy found out by those as see a 
good deal of them, because they see they talk one way to people's 
faces, and another way to their backs. They ain't cautious, and 
folks soon think ; well, when I'm gone my turn will come next, 
and I'll get it too, and they take care not to give 'em a chance. 
But a cautious false woman can never be found out but by the 




eye. I know'd a woman once that was all caution, and a jinniral 
favourite with every one, every one said what a nice woman she 
was, how kind, how agreeable, how sweet, how friendly, and all 
that, and so she was. She looked so artless, and smiled so pretty, 
and listened so patient, and defended any one you abused, or 
held her tongue, as if she wouldn't jine you ; and jist looked 
like a dear sweet love of a woman that was all goodness, good- 
will to man, charity to woman, and smiles for all. Well, I 
thought as everybody did. I ain't a suspicious man, at least I 
usn't to did to be, and at that time I didn't know all the secrets 
of the eye as I do now. One day I was there to a quiltin* frollic, 
and I was a-tellin' of her one of my good stories, and she was 
a lookin strait at me, a takin' aim with her smiles so as to hit me 
with every one on 'em, and a laughin' like anythin' ; but she 
happened to look round for a pair of scissors that was on t'other 
side of her, jist as I was at the funnyist part of my story, and lo 
and behold ! her smiles dropt right slap off like a petticoat when 
the string's broke, her face looked vacant for a minute, and her 
eye waited till it caught some one else's, and then it found its focus, 
looked right stait for it, all true agin, but she never look'd back 
for the rest of my capital story. She had never heard a word of it. 
' Creation !' says I, * is this all a bamm ? — what a fool I be.' I 
was stumped, I tell you. "Well, a few days arterwards, I found 
out the eye secret from t'other woman's behaviour, and I applied 
the test to this one, and I hope I may never see daylight agin if 
there wasn't *the mancevring eye' to perfection. If I had 
know'd the world then as I do now, I should have had some mis- 
givings sooner. No man, nor woman nother, can be a general 
favourite, and be true. It don't stand to natur' and common 
sense. The world is divided into three classes ; the good, the bad, 
and the indifferent. If a woman is a favourite of all, there is some- 
thin' wrong. She ought to love the good, to hate the wicked, and 
let the indifferent be. If the indifferent like, she has been pretendin' 
to thetn ; if the bad like, she mvnt have assented to them ; and if the 
good like, under these circumstances, they are duped. A general 
favourite don*t desarve to be a favourite with no one. And besides 
that, I oUf \i.i ^o have know'd, and ought to have asked, does she 
weep with tbt.n that weep, because that is friendship, and no 
mistake. Anybody can smile with you, for it's pleasant to sn^ile, 
or romp with you, for romping is fine fun ; but will they lessen 
your trouble by takin' some of the load of grief off your shoulders 
for you and carry in' it ? That's the question, for that ain't a 


' '.' ' 



pleasant task ; but it's the duty of a friend though, that's a fact. 
Oh ! cuss your uniyersal favourites, I say ! Give me the rael 

,vi^ But Lord love you ! obsarvin' is laming. This ain't a deep 
subject arter all, for this eye study is not rit in cypher like 
treason, nor in the dead languages, that have been dead so long 
ago, there is only the hair and the bones of them left. Nor 
foreign languages, that's only fit for singin', swarin', braggin' 
and blowin' soup when it's hot, nor any kind of lingo. It's the 
language of natur', and the language of natur' is the voice of Pro- 
vidence. Dogs and children can larn it, and half the time know 
it better nor man ; and one of the first lessons and plainest laws 
of natur' is, * to mind the eye,' '* 
i>ii- ... 



■ The Archbishop of Chs -^r^ury, according to appointment, 
called to-day upon Mr. ' n fell, and procured for him the 
honour of a private aud.^i.00 with the Queen. Her Majesty 
received him most graciously, and appeared to be much struck 
with the natural grace and ease of his manner, and the ingenu- 
ousness and simplicity of his character. Many anxious inquiries 
were made as to the state of the Episcopal Church in the States, 
and the Queen expressed herself much gratified at its extraordi- 
nary increase and prosperity of late years. On his withdrawing, 
her Majesty presented him with a very beautiful snuff-box, 
having her initials on it set in brilliants, which she begged him 
to gratify her by accepting, as a token of respect for his many 
virtues, and of the pleasure she had derived from this interview 
with the only surviving colonist of the United States she had ever 

Of such an event as an introduction at Court, the tale is soon 
told. They are too short and too uniform to admit of incident, 
but they naturally suggest many reflections. On his return he 
said, " I have had the gratification to-day of being presented to 
the Queen of England. Her Majesty is the first and only mo- 
narch I have ever seen. How exalted is her station, how heavy 
her responsibilities, and how well are her duties performed ! She 
js an incomparable woman, an obedient daughter, an excellent 





wife, an exemplary mother, an indulgent mistress, and an intelli- 
gent and merciful Sovereign. The women of England have 
great reason to be thankful to God, for setting before them so 
bright an example for their imitation : and the men of England 
that their allegiance is due to a Queen, who reigns in the hearts 
and affections of the people. My own opinion is, that the descent 
of the sceptre to her Majesty, at decease of the late King, was a 
special interposition of Providence, for the protection and safety 
of the empire. It was a time of geat excitement. The Re- 
formers, avaiUng themselves of the turbulence of the lower orders 
whose passions they had inflamed, had, about that period, let 
loose the midnight incendiary to create a distress that did not 
exist, by destroying the harvests that were to feed the poor ; had 
put the masses into motion, and marched immense bodies of 
unemployed and seditious men through the large towns of the 
kingdom, in order to infuse terror and dismay through the land ; 
to break asunder the ties between landlord and tenant, master and 
servant, parishioner and rector, and subject and sovereign. 

" Ignorant and brutal as these people were, and furious and 
cruel as were their leaders, still they were men and Englishmen, 
and when they turned their eyes to their youthful sovereign, and 
their virgin Queen, her spotless purity, her sex, her personal 
helplessness, and her many virtues, touched the hearts of even 
these monsters ; while the knowledge that for such a Queen, mil- 
lions of swords would leap from their scabbards, in every part of 
the empire, awakened their fears, and the wave of sedition rolled 
back again into the bosom of the deep, from which it had been 
thrown up by Whiggery, Radicalism, and Agitation. Had there 
at that juncture been a Prince upon the throne, and that Prince 
unfortunately not been popular, there would in all probability 
have been a second royal martyr, and a Robespierre, or a Crom- 
well, would have substituted a reign of terror for the mild and 
merciful government of a constitutional and legitimate sovereign. 
The English people owe much to their Queen. The hereditary 
descent of the crown, the more we consider it and the more expe- 
rienced we become, is after all, Squire, the best, the safest, and 
the wisest mode possible of transmitting it. 

*' Sam is always extoUing the value of a knowledge of human 
nature. It is no doubt of great use to the philosopher, and the 
lawgiver; but at last it is but the knowledge of the cunning 
man. The artful advocate, who plays upon the prejudices of a 
jury ; the unprincipled politician, who addresses the passions of 
the vulgar ; and the subtle courtier, who works upon the weak- 





nesses and foibles of Princes, may pride themselves on their 
knowledge of human nature, but, in my opinion, the only know- 
ledge necessary for man, in his intercourse with man, is written 
in a far different book — the Book of Life. 

" Now, as respects the subject we are talking of, an hereditary 
monarchy, I have often and often meditated on that beautiful 
parable, the first and the oldest, as well as one of the most 
striking, impressive, and instructive of all that are to be found in 
the bible. It occurs in the ninth chapter of Judges. Abimelech, 
you may recollect, induced his kindred to prepare the way for his 
ascent to the throne by a most horrible massacre, using those 
affectionate words, that are ever found in the mouths of all dema- 
gogues, for remember, he said, • I am your bone and your flesh V 
His followers are designated in the Holy record as ' vain and 
light persons,' who, when they accepted their bribe to commit 
that atrocious murder, said, surely he is our brother. Regicides 
and rebels use to this day the same alluring language ; they call 
themselves * the friends of the people,' and those that are vile 
enough to publish seditious tracts, and cowardly enough not to 
avow them, always subscribe themselves * one of the People.' 
The perpetrators of this awful murder gave rise to the following 
parable : 

" * The trees went forth on a time to anoint a king over them, 
and they said unto the olive-tree. Reign thou over us.' 

" * But the olive-tree said unto them. Should I leave my fatness, 
wherewith by me they honour God and man, and go to be pro- 
moted over the trees V 

" • And the trees said to the fig-tree, Come thou and reign 
over us.' 

" ' But the fig-tree said unto them. Should I forsake my 
sweetness, and my good fruit, and go to be promoted over the 
trees V 

" * Then said the trees unto the vine. Come thou and reign 
over us.' 

" * And the vine said unto them, Should I leave my wine, 
which cheereth God and man, and go to be promoted over the 
trees V 

" * Then said all the trees unto the bramble. Come thou and 

reign over us. , 

** And the bramble said unto the trees, If in truth ye anoint 
me king over you, then come and put your trust in my shadow ; 
if not, let fire come out of the bramble and devour the cedars of 
Lebanon.' " 







' " What a beautiful parable, and how applicable is it to all timie 
and all ages. The olive, the fig, and the vine had their several 
duties to perform, and were unwilling to assume those for which 
nature had not designed them. They were restrained alike b^ 
their modesty and their strong sense of rectitude. ' ; '^''"^^^ -"' ^ 
i " But the worthless bramble, the poorest and the meanest pliint 
in the forest, with the presumptuous vaniih^ so peculiar to weak 
and vulgar men, caught at once at the offer, and said, * Anoint 
me your king, and repose in ray shadow ;' and then, with the 
horrible denunciations which are usually uttered by these low- 
bred tyrants, said, ' if not, let fire issue from me and destroy all 
the noble cedars of Lebanon.* 

•' The shadow of a bramble ! ! — How eloquent is this vain- 
glorious boast, of a thing so humble, so naked of foliage, so per- 
vious to the sun, as a bramble ! ! — of one, too, so armed, and so 
constituted by nature, as to destroy the fleece and lacerate the 
flesh of all animals incautious enough to approach it. As it was 
with the trees of the forest, to whom the option was offered to 
elect a king, so it is with us in the States to this day, in the 
choice of our chief magistrate. The olive, the fig, and the vine 
decline the honour. Content to remain in the sphere in which 
Providence has placed them, performing their several duties in a 
way creditable to themselves and useful to the public, they prefer 
pursuing the even tenour of their way to being transplanted into 
the barren soil of politics, where a poisonous atmosphere engen- 
ders a feeble circulation, and a sour and deteriorated fruit. The 
brambles alone contend for the prize; and how often are the 
stately cedars destroyed to make room for those worthless pre- 
tenders. Republicanism has caused our country to be overrun 
by brambles. The Reform Bill has greatly increased them in 
England, and responsible government has multiplied them ten- 
fold in tlie colonies. May the offer of a crown never be made to 
one here, but may it descend, through all time, to the lawful 
heirs and descendants of this noble Queen. 

** What a glorious spectacle is now presented in London — the 
Queen, the Nobles, and the Commons, assembling at their ap- 
pointed time, aided by the wisdom, sanctified by the pravers, 
and honoured by the presence, of the prelates of the Churcli, to 
deliberate for the benefit of this vast empire ! What a union of 
rank, of wealth, of talent, of piety, of justice, of benevolence, and 
of all that is good and great, is to be found 1 "^his national 
council. The world is not able to shake an empire ose founda- 
tion is laid like that of England But treason ' ta^ undermine 



what force dare not assault. The strength of this nation lies in 
the union of the Church with the state. I'o sever this connection, 
then, is the object of all the evil- disposed in the realm, for they 
are well aware that the sceptre will fall with the ruin of the altar. 
The brambles may then, as in days of old, have the offer of power. 
What will precede, and what will follow, such an event, we all 
full well know. All Holy Scripture was written, we are informed, 
' that we might read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest it ;' and 
we are told therein that such an offer was not made in the instance 
alluded to till the way was prepared for it by the murder of all 
those lawfully entitled to the throne, and that bllowed by 

the most fearful denunciations against all the arisi Rcy of the 
land. I'he brambles then, as now, were levellers : the tall cedars 
were objects of their hatred. 

"It is a holy and blessed union. "Wordsworth, whom, as a 
child of nature 1 love, has beautifully expressed my ideas on this 
subject : 

M| v. 



Hail to the crown by Freedom shaped to gird 
An English sovereign's brow ! and to the throne 
Whereon she sits ! whose deep foundations lie 
III veneration and the people's love; 
Whose steps are equity, whose seat is law, 
Hail to the State of England ! And conjoin 
With this a salutation as devout, 
Made to the spiritual fabric of her Church, 
Founded in truth ; by blood of Martjrdom 
Cemented ; by the hands of Wisdom rea'«d 
In beauty of holiness, with ordered pomp 
Decent and unreproved. The voice thai greets 
The majesty of both, shall pray for both ; 
That mutually protected and sustained. 
They may endure as long as sea surrounds 
This favoured land, or suushine warms her soil.* " 

After repeating these verses, to which he gave grert effect, he 
dowh' rose from his seat — drew himself up to his lull height — 
arid lifted up both his hands in a mar.rer so impressive as to 
bring me at once upon my feet. I shall ever retain a most vivid 
recollection of the scene. His tall erect figure, his long white 
hair descending on his collar, his noble forehead and intelligent 
and benevolent countenance, and the devout and earnest expression 
of his face, was trulv Apostolical. His attitude and manner, as I 
have before observed, caused me involuntarily to rise, when he gave 
vent to his feelings in those words, so familiar to the ear an«i so 

'f s I 






< . 


dear to the heart of every churchinan, that I cannot deny myself 
the satisfaction of transcribing them, for the benefit of those 
whose dissent precludes them from the honour, and the gratifi- 
cation of constantly uniting with us in their use : '"" 
" * Almighty Grod, whose kingdom is everlasting and power 
infinite, have mercy upon the whole Church, and so rule the 
heart of thy chosen servant, Victoria, Queen and Governor, of 
England, that she, knowing whose minister she is, may, above all 
things, seek thy honour and glory, and that all her subject ' dvi'^ 
considering whose authority she hath, may faithfully serve, honour, 
and humbly obey her, in thee, and for the6, according to thy 
blessed word and ordinance. — Amen.' " 



" SduiRE," said Mr. Slick, "I am a-goin* to dine with Palm 
—Lord Palmerston, I mean, to-day, and arter that I'me for a 
grand let oif to Belgrave Square," and then throwing himself 
into a chair, he said, with an air of languor, " these people will 
actually kill me with kindness ; I feel e'en a'most used up, — I 
want rest, for I am up to the elbows, — I wish you was a-going 
too, I must say, for I should like to show you high life, but, 
imfortunately, you are a colonist. The British look down upon 
you as much as we look down upon them, so that you are not so 
tall as them, and a shocking sight shorter than us. — Lord, I 
wonder you keep your temper sometimes, when you get them 
compHments I've heerd paid you by the Whigs. *We'cl be 
better without you by a long chalk,' they say, * the colonies cost 
more than they are worth. They only sarve to involve us in 
disputes, and all such scorny talk ; ana then to see you coolly 
savin'. Great Britain without her colonies would be a mere trunk 
without arms or legs, and then cypherin' away at figures, to 
show 'em they are wrong, instead of givin' 'em back as good as 
they send, or up foot and let 'em have it ; and this I will say for 
the Tories, I have never heer'd them talk such everlastin' impu- 
dent nonsense, that's a fact, but the Whigs is Whigs, I tell 

you. But to get back to these parties, if you would let me or 
your colonial minister introduce you to society, I would give you 
some hints that would be useful to you, for I have made high life a 



to thy 

study, and my ksowledge of human natur' and soft sawder has 
helped me amazingly. I know the inns and outs of life from the 
palace to the log hut. And I'll tell you now what I call general 
rules for society. First, It ain't one man in a hundred kncws 
any subject thorough, and if he does, it ain't one time in a thou- 
sand he has an opportunity, or knows how to avail it. Secondly, 
a smatterin' is better nor deeper knowledge for society, for one is 
small talk, and the other is lecturin'. Thirdly, pretendin' to 
know, is half the time as good as knowin', if pretendin' is done 
by a man of the world cutely. Fourthly, if any crittur axes you 
if you have been here or there, or know this one or that one, or 
seen this sight, or t'other sight, always say yes, if you can with- 
out lyin', and then turn right short round to him, and say 
• What's your opinion on it ? I should like to hear your views, 
for they are always so original.' That saves you makin' a fool 
of yourself by talking nonsense, for one thing, and when a room 
ain't overly well furnished, it's best to keep the blinds down in a 
general way ; and it tickles his vanity, and that's another, thing. 
Most folks like the sound of their own voices better nor other 
peoples', and every one thinks a good listener and a good laugher, 
the ' asantest crittur in the world. Fifthly, lead where you 
know, when you don't, foUer, but soft sawder always. Sixthly, 
never get cross in society, especially where the galls are, but bite 
in your breath, and swaller all down. When women is by, fend 
off with fun ; when it's only men, give 'em a taste of your breed, 
delicately like, jist hintin' in a way they can't mistake, for a nod 
is as good as a wink to a blind horse. Oncet or twice here to 
London, I've had the rig run on me, and our great nation, among 
men till I couldn't stand it no longer. Well, what does I do, — 
why, instead of breakin' out into an uprorious passion, I jist work 
round, and work round, to turn the talk a little, so as to get a 
chance to give 'em a guess what sort of iron I' me made of, and 
how I' me tempered, by sayin' naterally and accidentally like, * I 
was in Scotland the other day goin' from Kelso to Edinboro'. 
There was a good many men folk on the top of the coach, and as 
I didn't know one, I jist outs with a cigar, and begins to smoke 
away all to myself, for company like. Well, one feller began 
grumblin' and growlin' about smokin', how ongenteel it was, and 
what a nuisance it was, and so on, and all that, and more too, and 
then looked right straight at me, and said it hadn't ought to be 
allowed. Well, I jist took a squint round, and as I seed there was 
no women folks present — for if there had a-been I'd a-throwed it 
right away in a minit — but as there wam't, I jist smoked on. 

^ I 


THE attache; 





folded my arms, and said nothin'. At last the crittur, findin' 
others agreed with him, and that I didn't give lip, spunks up to 
me, bullyin' like, and sais, * What would you think, Sir/ sais he, 
* if I was to pull that cigar from your mouth and throw it right 
down on the ground.* ' I'll tell you,' sais I, quite cool, • what 
I'd think, and that is, that it would be most partekilarly d — d 
odd if you didn't touch ground before the cip;ar. Try it,' sais I, 
puttin' my head forward so he might take it, ' and I'll bet you 
five pounds you are off the coach before the cigar.' I gave the 
feller but one look, and that was wicked enough to kill the cooti, 
and skin him too. It cut his comb, you may depend ; he hauled 
in his horns, mumbled a leetle, and then sat as silent as a pine 
stump, and looked as small as if he was screwed into an auger 
hole. Arter tellin' of this story I jist add, with a smile, ' Since 
the Judges have given out here they intend to hang for duellin', 
some folks think they can be rude ; but it never troubles me. 
I'me a good-natered man, and always was. I never could carry 
malice till next day since I was born, so I punish on the spot.' 
A leeile anecdote like that, with a delicate elegant leetle hint to 
the eend on't, stops impudence in a minit. Yes, that's a great 
rule, never get cross in society; it tante considered good 

" Now, as for small change in society, you know. Squire, I ain't 
a deep larned man, but I know a leetle of everything, a' most, and 
I try to have a curious fact in each, and that is my stock to trade 
with. Fust thing in company is dress, no man can pass muster 
unless he is fust chop in that. Hat, gloves, shoes, from Paris ; 
cloths from Stultz, and so on, and then your outer man is as good 
as Count Dorsy's. Second thing is talk. Now, suppose I call on 
a lady, and see her at rug-work, or worsteds, or whatever you call 
it. Well, I take it up, coolly, and say, this is very beautiful, and 
very diificult, too, for that is the double cross stitch with a half 
slant, and then suggest about tent stich, satin stich, and so on ; 
but above all I swear her stich is the best in the world, whatever 
it is, and she looks all struck up of a heap, as miich as to say, 
where on airth did you lam all that. * And where did you lam 
it ?' I said in some surprise. • From mother,' she replied. 
"When she was a gal rug-work was all the edication female women 
had, besides house-keepin*, so in course she talked for ever of the 
double cross stich, with the half slant, the fine fern stich, the 
finny stich, the brave bred stich, the smarting whip stich, and the 
Lord knows how many stiches ; and it's a pity they hadn't a stich 
to it, Squire, for one half on 'em have had all their natur' druv 



out of them and no art put into them, *xeept the art of talking, 
and acting like fools. / like natur' myself, and always did, but if 
we are so cussed fashionable, we must put a dress of our own on it, 
for goodness gracious sake, let it be somethin' transparent, that we 
may get a little peep through it sometimes, at any rate. 

** Well, then, sposin' its picturs that's on the carpet, wait till 
you hear the name of the painter. If it is Rupees, or any one of 
the old ones," — " Rubens you mean," I said. — **0h, yes; cuss 
that word, I seldom use it," he replied, "for I am sure to make 
that mistake, and therefore I let others pronounce it fust. If its 
Rubens, or any o' them old boys, praise, for its agin the law to 
doubt them ; but if its a new man, and the company ain't most 
special judges, criticise. A leetle out of keepin', sais you, he 
don't use his greys enough, nor glaze down well ; that shadder 
wants depth ; gineral effect is good, tho' parts ain't ; those eye- 
brows are heavy *»nough for stucco, says you, and other unraeanin* 
terms like them. It will pass, I tell you, your opinion will be 
thought great. Them that judged the Cartoon, at Westminster 
Hall, knew plaguy little more nor that. But if there is* por- 
trait of the lady of the house hangin' up, and its at all like 
enough to make it out, stop, — gaze on it — walk back — close your 
fingers like a spy-glass, and look thro' 'em amazed like, — en- 
chanted — chained to the spot. Then utter, unconscious like, 

• that's a' most a beautiful pictur' ; — by Heavens that's a speakin* 
portrait. Its well painted, too ; but, whoever the artist is, he is 
an onprincipled man.' *Good gracious,' she'll say, 'how so?' 

• Because, Madam, he has not done you justice, he pretends to 
have a conscience, and says he won't flatter. The cantin' rascal 
knew he could not add a charm to that face if he was to trv, and 
has, therefore, basely robbed your countenance to put it on to his 
character. Out on such a villain,' sais you, *0h, Mr. Slick,* 
she'll say, blushin', but lookin' horrid pleased all the time, 

• what a shame it is to be so severe, and, besides, you are not just, 
for I am afeerd to exhibit it, it is so flattered.' • Flattered !' sais 
you, turnin' round, and lookin' at her, with your whole soul in 
your face, all admiration like : — 'flattered! — impossible, Madam.* 
And then turn short off, and say to yourself aloud, * Heavens, 
how unconscious she is of her own power !' 

" Well, sposin' its roses ; get hold of a moss-rose tree, and say, 
' these bushes send up few suckers ,• I'll tell you how to propa- 
gate 'em : — Lay a root bare ; insert the blade of a penknife length- 
wise, and then put a small peg into the slit, and cover all up 
again, and it will give you a new shoot there.' * Indeed,' she'll 

.1 1 


i' ! 

J I 



say, ' that's worth knowin*.' Well, if its annuals, soy, ' mix saw- 
dust with the airth and they'll come double, and be of a better 
colour.' ' Dear me !' she'll say, • I didn't know that.' Or if its 
a tree-rose, say, ' put a silver- skinned onion to its roots, and it 
will increase the flavour of the roses, without given out the leastest 
mossel in the world of its own.* Or if its a tulip, * run a needU'- 
ful of yarn thro* the bulb, to varies^ate it, or some such little 
information as that.' Oh ! its a great thing to have a gineral 
little assortment, if its only one thing of a kind, so that if its 
called for, you needn't send your friend to another shop for it. 
There is nothin' Uke savin' a customer where you can. In small 
places they can sound your depth, and tell whether you are a 
deep nine, or a quarterless six, as easy as nothin' ; but here thoy 
can't do any such a thing, for circles are too large, and that's the 
beauty of London. Yuu don't always meet the same people here, 
and, in course, can use the same stories over and over agin*, and 
not ear-wig folks ; nothin' is so bad as tellin' the same story twice. 
Now, that's the way the Methodists do. They divide the country 
into CTrcuits, and keep their preachers a movin' from place to 
place. Well, each one has three or four crack sermons. He puts 
them into his portmanter, gallops into a town, all ready cocked 
and primed, fires them off, and then travels on, afore he is guaged 
and his measure took ; and the folks say what a'most a grand 
preacher that is, what a pleasin* man he is, and the next man Aist 
charms, and then breaks their hearts by goin' away agin*. The 
Methodists are actilly the most broken-hearted people I ever see. 
They are doomed for ever to be partin' with the cleverest men, 
the best preachers, and the dearest friends in the world. I actilly 
pity them. Well, these little things must be attended to ; coloured 
note-paper, filagreed envelopes, with musk inside and gold wafer 
outside: delicate, refined, and uppercrust. Some fashionable 
people don't use those things, and laugh at them little finikin 
forms. New men, and, above all, colony men, that's only half 
way between an African and a white man can't, /could but you 
couldn't, that's the difference. Yes, Squire, these are rules worth 
knowin', they are founded on experience, and experience tells me 
that fashionable people, all the world over, are, for the most part, 
as soft as dough ; throw *em agin' the wall and they actilly stick, 
they are so soft. But, soft as they be, they won't stick to you if 
you don't attend to these rules, and, above all things, lay in a 
good stock oisoft sawder and small talk" 



It t ..: 



" I HAVE been looking about all the mornin' for you, Squire," 
said Mr. Slick, " where on airth have you packed yourself ? We 
are a goin' to make up a party to Blackwall, and eat white bait, 
and we want you to go along with us. I'll tell you what sot me 
on the notion. As I was a browsin' about the park this forenoon, 
who should I meet but Euclid Hogg of Nahant. * Why, Slick,* 
says he, 'how do you do ? it's a month of Sundays a' most since 
I've seed you, sposin' we make a day of it, and go to Greenwich 
or Blackwall ; I want to hear you talk, and that's better nor your 
books at any time.' * Well,' says I, ' I don't care if I do go, if 
Minister will, for you know he is here, and so is father, too.' 
' Your father !' said he, a-startin' back — ' your father ! Land of 
Goshen ! what can you do with him ?' and his eyes stootf still, 
and looked inward, as if reflecting, and a smile shot right across 
his cheek, and settled down in the comer of his mouth, sly, funny, 
and wicked. Oh ! how it cut me to the heart, for I knowed what 
was a passin' in his mind, and if he had a let it pass out, I would 
have knocked him down — I would, I sware. ' Your father !' said 
he. * Yes,' sais I, • my father, have you any objections. Sir .''' 
sais I, a-clinchin' of my fist to let him have it. ' Oh, don't talk 
that way, Sam,' said he, * that's a good feller, I didn't mean to 
say nothin' offensive, I was only a thinkin' what under the sun 
fetched him here, and that he must be considerable in your way, 
that's all. If repeatin' his name after that fashion hurt you, why 
I feel as ugly about it as you do, and beg your pardon, that's 
all.' Well, nothin' mollifies me like soft words ; so says I, * It 
was me that was wrong, and I am sorry for it ; come, let's go 
and start the old folks.' ' That's right,' says he, * which shall it 
be, Greenwich or Blackwall ?' ' Blackwall,' says I, * fot we have 
been to t'other one;' ' So it shall be, old feller,' said he, * we'll 
go to Lovegrove's and have white bait.' * White bait,' says I, 
* what's that, is it gals ? for they are the best bait I know on.' 
Well, I thought the critter would have gone into fits, he larfed 
so. * Well, you do beat all, Sam,' said he ; * what a droll feller 
you be ! White bait ! well, that's capital — I don' t think it would 
have raised the idea of gals in any other soul's head but yOv.r 
own, I vow.' I knowed well enough what he was a-drivin' at, for in 





course a man in fashionable life, like me, had eat white bait din- 
ners, and drank iced punch, often and often, tho' I must say I 
never tasted them any where bi.'t on that part of the Thames, 
and a'most a grand dish it is too, there ain't nothin* equal to it 
hardly. "Well, when Euclid had done larfin*, says I, ' I'll tell 
you what put it into my head. When I was last to Nova Scotia, 
on the Guelph shore, I put up to a farmer's house there, one 
Gabriel Gab's. All the folks was a hauUn' in fish, hand over 
hand, Uke anything. The nets were actilly ready to break with 
mackerel, for they were chock full, that's a fact. It was a good 
sight for sore eyes, I tell you, to see the poor people catchin' dol- 
lars that way, for a good haul is Uke fishin' up money, it's so pro- 
fitable. — Fact I assure you. * So,' says I, * Uncle Gabe Gab,' 
says I, * what a'most a grand haul of fish you have.' * Oh, Mr. 
Shck !' sais he, and he turned up the whites of his eyes handsum, 
• oh !' said he, (and he looked good enough to eat a'most) * oh, 
Mr. Slick ! I'm a fisher of men, and not a fisher of fish.' Well, 
it made me mad, for nothin' ryles me so like cant, and the crittur 
was alitilly too infamal lazy to work^ and had took to stroUin' 
preachin' for a Uvin'. * I'me a fislier of men and not a fisher of 
fish,' says he. * Are you ?' sais I. * Then you ought to be the 
most fortinate one in these diggins, / know.' * How so ?* said 
he. 'Why,' sais I, *no soul tvrer fished for men that had his 
hook sot 'with such beautiful bait as yours,' a-pinetin' to his three 
splenderiferous gals. Lord, how the young heifers screamed, and 
larfed, and tee-heed, for they was the rompinest, forredest, tor- 
mentenest, wildest, devils ever you see. It's curous. Squire, ain't 
it ? But a hypocrite father like Gabe Gab is sure to have rol- 
lickin' frolickin' children. They do well enough when in sight ; 
but out of that, they beat all natur*. Takin' off restraint is like 
takin' off the harness of a boss ; how they race about the field, 
squeel, roll over and over on the grass, and kick up their heels, 
don't they ? Gabe Gab's darters were proper sly ones, and up to 
all sorts of mischief when his back was turned. I never seed 
them I didn't think of the old song, — ' ( ^ 

' The darter of a fisherman 

That was so tall and slim, 
Lived over on the other side, 

Just opposite to him. 
He savF her wave her handkercher, ' 

As much as for to say, 
It's grand time for courtin' now, 

For daddy's gone away.' 



Yeg, hypocrasy his enlisted more folks for old Scratch than any re- 
eruUin* sergeant he has, that's a fact. But to get back to the 
white bait, we went and roused out old Minister and father, but 
father said he had most special business (tho* what onder the sun 
he is arter, I can't make out for the life of me), and Minister said 
he wouldn't go without you, and now it's too late for to-day. So 
what do say to-morrow. Squire ? Will you go ? That's right ; 
then we'll all go to-morrow, and I'll show you what * white bait' is." 




According to the arrangements made, as related in the last 
chapter, we went to Black wall. Upon these excursions, when 
we all travelled together, I always ordered private apartments, that 
the conversation might be unrestrained, and that the freedom of 
remark, in which we indulged, might neither attract attention nor 
give offence. Orders having been given for " white bait," Mr. 
Slick and his father walked into the garden, while the "Minister" 
and myself were engaged in conversation on various topics sug- 
gested by the moving scene presented by the river. Among 
other things, he pointed to the beautiful pile of buildings on the 
opposite side of the Thames, and eulogised the munificent pro- 
vision England had made for the infirmities and old age of those 
whose lives had been spent in the service of the country. " That 
palace. Sir," he said, "for disabled sailors, and the other, at 
Chelsea, for decrepid soldiers, splendid as they are, if they were 
the only charitable institutions of England, might perhaps be 
said to have had their origin, rather in state policy than national 
Uberality ; but fortunately they are only part of an universal 
system of benevolence here. Turn which way you will, you find 
Orphan Asylums, Magdalen Hospitals, Charity Schools, Bed- 
lams, places of refuge for the blind, the deaf, the dumb, the 
deformed, the destitute, for families reduced by misfortune, and 
for those whom crime or profligacy have punished with infamy 
or disease. For all classes of sufferers charity has provided a home, 
and kindness a nurse, while funds have been liberally bestowed 
to encourage talent, and educate, promote, and reward merit. 

" The amount of capital, permanently invested and annually 
supplied by voluntary contribution, for those objects, is incredible. 

R 2 



What are tlie people who have done all this ? and whence does it 
flow ? They are Christians, Sir. It is the fruit of their religion ; 
and as no other country in the world can exhibit such a nable 
spectacle — so pleasing to God, and so instructive and honourable 
to man, it is fair to infer that that religion is better taught better 
understood, and better exemplified here than elsewhere. You 
shall know a tree by its productions, and this is the glorious 
fruit of the Church of England. x/^ft 

" Liberals and infidels may ridicule its connexion with the State, 
and Dissenters may point to the Bench of Bishops, and ask with 
ignorant effrontery, whether their usefulness is commensurate 
with their expense. I point to their own establishments and say, 
let their condition and their effects be your answer. I point to 
Owen and Irvin, whom they impiously call their apostles, and 
while declining a comparison, repose myself under the shadow 
of the venerable hierarchy of the Church. The spires and hos- 
pitals and colleges so diffusely spread over this great country, 
testify in its behalf. The great Episcopal Church of America raises 
its voice in the defence and praise of its parent ; and the colonies 
of the east and the west, and the north and the south, and the 
heathen everywhere, implore the blessing of God on a Church, 
to whose liberality alone they owe the means of grace they now 
possess. But this is not all. "When asked, where do you find a 
justification for this connexion, the answer is short and plain, 
I find it written in the character of an Englishman. With all his 
faults of manner, Squire (and it is his manner that is chiefly 
reprehensible, not his conduct), show me a foreigner from any , 
nation in the world, under any other form of Church government, 
whose character stands so high as an Englishman's. How much 
of greatness and goodness — of lil erality, and of sterling worth, 
is conveyed by that one word. And yet. Squire," he said, " I 
would not attribute all the elements of his character to his 
Church, although all the most valuable ones unquestionably must 
be ascribed to it ; for some of them are to be traced to the poli- 
tical institutions of England. There are three things that mould 
and modify national character — the religion — the constitution — 
and the climate of a country. Thf ve are those who murmur 
against their God, and would improve their climate if they could, 
but this is impious ; and there are those who would overthrow 
the altar and the throne, in their reckless thirst for change, and 
this also is wicked. Avoid the contamination of both. 

** May man support the Church of God as here established, 
for it is the best that is known to the human race ; and may 



God preserve and prosper the constitution as here formed, for it 
is the perfection of human wisdom." 

He then took up his chair, and plarr;;r it directly h:. front of 
the open window, rested his head on Li^> Lands, and seemed to 
be absorbed in some speculation. He continued in this state of 
abstraction for some time. I never disturbed him when I saw 
him in these meditating moods, as I knew that he sought them 
either as a refuge, or as a resource for the supply of conversation. 
He was soon doomed, however, to be interrupted by Mr. Slick, 
who, returning with his father, at once walked tip to him, and, 
tapping him on the shoulder, said, '* Come. Minister, what do 
you say to the white bait now ? I'm getting considerable 
peckish, and feel as if I could tuck it in in good style. A slice 
of nice brown bread and butter, the white bait fried dry and 
crisp, jist laid a-top of it, like the naked truth, the leastest 
mossel in the world of cayenne, and then a squeeze of a lemon, 
as delicate as the squeeze of a gal's hand in courting time, and 
lick ! it goes down as slick as a rifle-ball ; it fairly makes my 
mouth water ! And then arter laying in a solid foundation of 
that, there's a glass of lignum-vity for me, a bottle of genuine 
old cider for you and father, and another of champagne for Squire 
and me to top off with, and then a cigar all round, and up killock 
and off for London. Come, Minister, what do you say ? Why, 
what in airth ails him. Squire, that he don't answer ? He's off 
the handle again as sure as a gun. Come, Minister," he said 
again, tapping him on the shoulder, " won't you rise to my 
hook, it's got white bait to the eend on't ? 

" Oh !" said he, " is that you, Sam ?" • 

" Sartain," he replied, "at least what's left of me. What 
under the sun have you been a thinkin' on so everlastin' deep ? 
I've been a-standin' talking to you here these ten minits, and I 
believe in ray soul, you haven't heerd one blessed word." 

"I'll tell you, Sam," he said, "sit down on this chair. Do 
you see that * curling wave ?' behold it how it emerges out of the 
mass of water, increases as it rolls on, rises to a bead, and then 
curls over, and sinks again into the great flood from which it was 
forced up, and vanishes from sight for ever. That is an emblem 
of a public man in America, fcjociety there has no permanency, 
and therefore wants not only the high polish that the attrition 
of several generations gives, but one of the greatest stimulants 
and incentives to action next to religion that we know of — pride 
of name, and the honour of an old family. Now don't interrupt 
Doe, bam ; I don't mean to say that we haven't polished men, and 





honourable men, in abundance. I am not a man to undervalue 
my countrymen ; but then I am not so weak as you and many 
others are, as to claim all the advantages of a republic, and deny 
that we have the unavoidable attendant evils of one. Don't in- 
terrupt me. I am now merely stating one of the effects of poli- 
tical institutions on character. We have enough to boast of ; 
don't let us claim all, or we shall have everything disputed. 
With us a low family amasses wealth, and educates its sons ; one 
of them has talent, and becomes a great public character. He 
lives on his patrimony, and spends it ; for, politics witb us, 
though they make a man distinguished, never make him rich. 
He acquires a great name that becomes known all over America, 
and is everywhere recognized in Europe. He dies and leaves 
some poor children, who sink under the surface of society from 
which he accidentally arose, and are never more heard of again. 
The pride of his name is lost after the first generation, and the 
authenticity of descent is disputed in the second. Had our in- 
stitutions permitted his perpetuating his name by an entailment 
of his estate (which they do not and cannot allow), he would have 
preserved his property during his life, and there would have 
arisen among his descendants, in a few years, the pride of name 
— that pride which is so anxious for the preservation of the purity 
of its escutcheon, and which generates, in process of time, a high 
sense of honour. We lose by this equality of ours a great stimu- 
lant to virtuous actions. Now look at that oak, it is the growth of 
past ages. Queen Elizabeth looked upon it as we now do. Race, 
after race have beheld it, and passed away. They are gone, and 
most of them are forgotten ; but there is that noble tree, so deep 
rooted, that storms and tempests cannot move it. So strong and 
so sound, that ages seem rather to have increased its solidity than 
impaired its health. That is an emblem of the hereditary class 
in England — permanent, useful, and ornamental ; it graces the 
landscape, and affords shelter and protection under its umbra- 
geous branches." 

"And pysons all the grain ondemeath it/' said Mr. Slick, 
'*and stops the plough in the furror, and spiles the ridges; and 
attracts the lightning, and kills the cattle that run under it from 
the storm." 

"The cattle, Sam," he mildly repUed, *' sometimes attract the 
lightning that rends the branches. The tree does not destroy 
the grass beneath its shelter ; but nature, while it refuses to pro- 
duce both in one spot, increases the quantity of grain that is 
grown at a distance, in consequence of the protection it enjoys 



against the wind. Thus, while the cultivation of the soil affords 
nurture for the tree, and increases its size, the shelter of the tree 
protects the grain. What a picture of a nobleman and his tenants ! 
What a type of the political world is to be found here in the 
visible objects of nature ! Here a man rises into a great public 
character — is ennobled, founds a family, and his posterity, in 
time feel they have the honour of several generations of ancestors 
in their keeping, and that if they cannot increase, they must at 
least T'ot tarnish, the lustre of their name. What an incentive 
to virtuous action ! What an antidote to dishonour ! But here 
is the white bait ; after dinner we will again discourse of the 
Curling Wave and The Old Oak Tree." 


m - 



After dinner Mr. Hopewell resumed the conversation re- 
ferred to in the last chapter. "I observed to you just now. 
Squire, that there were three things that moulded national cha- 
racter; climate, political institutions, and religion. These are 
curious speculations, my children, and well worthy of study, for 
we are too apt in this world to mistake effect for cause. Look 
at the operation of climate on an Englishman. The cloudy sky 
and humid atmosphere in this country renders him phlegmatic, 
while the uncertain and variable weather, by constantly driving 
him to shelter, induces him to render that shelter as commodious 
and agreeable as possible. Hence home is predominant with him. 
Operating on all his household equally with himself^ the weather 
unites all in the family circle. Hence his domestic virtues. Re- 
stricted by these circumstances, over which he has no control, to 
his own fireside, and constitutionally phlegmatic, as I have just 
observed, he becomes, from the force of habit, unwiUing to en- 
large or to lea/C that circle. Hence a reserve and coldness of man- 
ner towards strangers, too often mistaken for the pride of home 
or purse. His habits are necessarily those of business. The 
weather is neither too hot for exertion, nor too cold for exposure, 
but such as to require a comfortable house, abundance of fuel, 
and warm clothing. His wcnts ^re numerous, and his exertions 
must correspond to them. He is, therefore, both industrious and 
frugal. Cross the channel, and a sunny sky produces the re- 





THE attache; 


ir »i 

i I 

verse. You have a volatile excitable Frenchman ; he has no 
place that deserves the name of a home. He lives in the gardens, 
the fields, in the public houses, and the theatres. It is no incon- 
venience to him to know all the world. He has all these places 
of public resort to meet his acquaintances in, and they meet on 
equal terms. The climate is such as to admit of light 
clothing, and slight shelter ; food is cheap, and but little more 
fuel is required than what suffices to dress it ; but little exertion 
is requisite, therefore, to procure the necessaries of life, and he is 
an idle, thoughtless, merry fellow. So much for climate, now 
for political institutions that aifect character. 

" I need only advert to the form of this government, a limited 
monarchy, which is without doubt the best that human wisdom 
has yet discovered, or that accidental circumstances have ever 
conspired to form. "Where it is absolute, there can be no freedom ; 
where it is limited, there can be no tyranny. The regal power 
here (notwithstanding our dread of royalty), varies very little 
from what is found in the United States conducive to the public 
good, to delegate to the President. In one case the sceptre is 
inherited and held for life, in the other it is bestowed by election, 
and its tenure terminates in four years. Our upper legislative 
assembly is elective, and resembles a large lake into which nume- 
rous and copious streams are constantly pouring, and from which 
others of equal size are perpetually issuing. The President, the 
Senators, and the Representatives, though differently chosen, all 
belong to one clas« ; and are in no way distinguishable one from 
the other. The second branch of the legislature in England is 
composed of nobility, men distinguished alike for their learning, 
their accomplishments, their high honour, enormous wealth, mu- 
nificence, and all those things that constitute, in the opinion of 
the world, greatness. The Queen, then, and all the various 
orders of nobility, are not only in reality above all others, but it is 
freely, fully, and cheerfnlly conceded that they are so. 'i- 

" With us all religions are merely tolerated, as a sort of neces- 
sary evil ; no one church is fostered, protected, or adopted }ty the 
State. Here they have incorporated one with the State, and 
given the name of the kingdom to it, to distinguish it from all 
others — the Church of England. Excuse my mentioning these 
truisms to you, but it is necessary to allude to them, not for the 
purpose of instruction, for no one needs that, but to explain their 
effect on character. Here then are permanent orders and fixed 
institutions, and here is a regular well-defined gradation of rank, 
from the sovereign on the throne to the country squire ; kliawti 



to all, acknowledged by all, and approved of by all. This poli- 
tical stability necessarily imparts stability to the character, and 
the court and the peerage naturally infuse through society, by 
the unavoidable influence of the models they present, a high sense of 
honour, elegance of manners, and great dignity of character and 
conduct. An English gentleman, therefore, is kind and consi- 
derate to his inferiors, affable to his equals, and respectful (not 
obsequious, for servility belongs to an absolute, and not a limited 
monarchy, and is begotten of power, not of right) to his supe- 
riors. What is the case where there are no superiors and no 
inferiors ? Where all strive to be first and none are admitted to 
be so ; where the law, in direct opposition to all nature, has 
declared those to be equal who are as unequal in their talents as 
they are in their pecuniary means } In such a case the tone 
may be called an average one, but what must the average of the 
masses be in intelligence, in morals, in civilization ? to use another 
mercantile phrase, it must inevitably be ' below par.' All these 
things are elements in the formation of character, whether 
national or individual. There is great manliness, great sincerity, 
great integrity, and a great sense of propriety in England, arising 
from the causes I have enumerated. One extraordinary proof of 
the wholesome state of the public mind here is, the condition 
of the press. 

" By the law of the land, the liberty of the press is here 
secured to the subject. He has a right to use it, he is punish- 
able only for its abuse. You would naturally suppose, that the 
same liberty of the press in England and Amerca, or in Great 
Britain and Russia, would produce the same effect, but this is by 
no means the case. Here it is safe, but no where else, not even 
in the Colonies. Here a Court, an Established Church, a peer- 
age, an aristocracy, a gentry, a large army and navy, and last, 
though not least, an intelligent, moral, and highly respectable 
middle class, all united by one common interest, though they 
have severally a distinct sphere, and are more or less connected 
by ties of various kinds, constitute so large, so powerful, and 
so influential a body, that the press is restrained. It may talk 
boldly, but it cannot talk licentiously ; it may talk freely, but 
not seditiously. The good feeling of the country is too strong. 
The law of itself is everywhere unequal to the task. There are 
some liberal papers of a most demoralizing character, but they 
are the exceptions that serve to show how safe it is to entrust 
Englishmen with this most valuable but most dangerous engine. 
In France these checks, though nominaly the same, scarcely 





exist. To the great body of the people a different tone is accept- 
able. The had feeling of the country is too strong. 

'* In the United States and in the Colonies these checks are 
also wanting. Here a newspaper is often a joint-stock property. 
It is worth thousands of pounds. It is edited by men of colle- 
giate education, and first rate talents. It sometimes reflects, and 
sometimes acts, upon the opinions of the higher classes. To 
accomplish this, its tone must be equal, and its ability, if possible, 
superior to that of its patrons. In America, a bunch of quills 
and a paper, with the promise of a grocer to give his advertise- 
ments for insertion, is all that is necessary to start a newspaper 
upon. The checks I have spoken of are wanting. This I know 
to be the case with us, and I am certain your experience of colo- 
nial affairs will confirm my assertion that it is the case in 
the provinces also. Take up almost any (I won't say all, 
because that would be a gross libel on both my country and 
yours) ; but take up almost any transatlantic newspaper, and 
how much of personality, of imputation, of insolence, of agitation, 
of pandering to bad passions, is there to regret in it ? The good 
feeling of the country is not strong enough for it. Here it is safe. 
With us it is safer than in any other place perhaps, but from a 
totally different cause — from the enormous number that are pub- 
lished, which limits the circulation of each, distracts rather than 
directs opinion, and renders unity of design as well as unity of action 
impossible. Where a few papers are the organs of the public, 
the public makes itself heard and understood. Where thousands 
are claiming attention at the same time, all are confounded, and 
in a manner disregarded. But to leave illustrations. Squire, 
which are endless, let us consider the eflFect of religion in the 
formation of character. 

*' The Christian religion is essentially the same everywhere ; 
but the form of Church government, and the persons by whom 
it is administered, modify national character in a manner alto- 
gether incredible to those who have not traced these things up to 
Qieir source, and down to their consequences. Now, it will 
startle you no doubt when I say, only tell me the class of persons 
that the clergy of a country are taken from, and I will tell you 
at once the stage of refinement it is in. 

'* In England the clergy are taken from the gentry, some few from 
the nobility, and some few from the humbler walks of life, but 
mainly from the gentry. The clergy of the Church of England are 
gentlemen and scholars. What an immense advantage that is to a 
country! What an element it forms in the refinement of a 




nation ! when a high sense of honour is superadded to the obhga- 
tion of religion. France, before the Revolution, had a most 
learned and accomplished clergy of gentry, and the high state of 
civilization of the people testified to their influence. In the 
Revolution the altar was overturned with the throne — the priest- 
hood was dispersed, and society received its tone from a plebeian 
army. What a change has since come over the nation. It 
assumed an entirely new character. Some little improvement 
has taken place of late ; but years must pass away before France 
can recover the loss it sustained in the long-continued absence of 
its amiable and enlightened hierarchy. A mild, tolerant, charit- 
able, gentle, humble, creed like that of a Christian, should be 
taught and exemplified by a gentleman ; for nearly all his attri- 
butes are those of a Christian. This is not theory. An English- 
man is himself a practical example of the benefits resulting from 
the union between the Church and the State, and the clergy and 
the gentry. 

" Take a country, where the small farmers furnish the 
ministers. The people may be moral, but they are not refined ; 
they may be honest, but they are hard ; they may have education, 
but they are coarse and vulgar. Go lower down in the scale, and 
take them from the peasantry. Education will not eradicate 
their prejudices, or remo s their vulgar errors. They have too 
many feelings and passions in common with the ignorant asso- 
ciates of their youth, to teach those, from whom they are in 
no way distinguised but by a little smattering of languages. 
While they deprecate the sera of darkness, their conversation, 
unknown to ther" selves, fans the flame because their early train- 
ing has made them regard their imaginary grievances as real ones, 
and induce them to bestow their sympathy where they should 
give their counsel — or to give their counsel where they should 
interpose their authority. A thoroughly low-bred ignorant 
clergy is a sure indication of the ignorance and degradation of a 
nation. What a dreadful thing it is when any man can preadh, 
and when any one that preaches, as in Independent or Colonial 
America, can procure hearers ; where no training, no learning is 
required — where the voice of vanity, or laziness is often mistaken 
for a sacred call, where an ignorant volubility is dignified with 
the name of inspiratit n — where pandering to prejudices is 
popular, and where popular preaching is lucrative I How dele- 
terious must be the effect of such a state of things on the public 

"It is easy for us to say, this constitution or that constitution is 





the perfection of reason. We boast of ours that it confers equal 
rights on all, and exclusive (irivileges on none, and so on ; but 
there are other things besides rights in the world. In our 
government we surrender certain rights for the protection yielded 
by government, and no more than is necessary for this purpose ; 
hut there are some important things besides protection. In 
Enjrland they yield more to obtain more. Some concession is 
made to have an hereditary throne, that the country may not be 
torn to pieces, as ours is every five years, bv contending parties, 
for the office of chief magistrate ; or that the nation, like Home 
of old, may not be at the mercy of the legions. Some conces- 
sion is made to have the advantage of an hereditary peerage, 
that may repress the power of the crown on one side, and popular 
aggressions on the other;— and further concession is made to 
secure the blessings of an Established Church, that the people 
may not be left to themselves to become the prey of furious 
fanatics like Cromwell, or murderous infidels like Robespierre ; 
and that superiititious zeal and philosophical indifference may 
alike be excluded from the temple of the Lord, What is the 
result of all this concession that Whigs call expensive machinery. 
Radicals the ignorant blunders of our poor old forefathers, and 
your wholesale Reformers the rapacity of might. What is the 
result ? Such a moral, social, and political stale, as nothing but 
the goodness of God could have conferred upon the people in 
reward for their many virtues. With such a climate — such a 
constitution, and such a clip.rch, is it any wonder that the national 
character stands so high that, to insure respect in any part of the 
world, it is only necessary to say, * I am an Englishman.' " 




It was late when we returned to London, and Mr. Hopewell 
and Colonel Slick being both fatigued, retired almost immediately 
for the night. 

"Smart man. Minister," said the Attach^, "ain't he? You 
smart, don't you? for they use words verv odd here, and 


then fancy it is us talk strange, because we use them as they be. 
I met Lady Charlotte West to-day, and sais I, ' I am deHghted 
to hear your mother has grown so clever lately.' * Clever?' sais 



she, and she coloured up like anythin', for the old lady, the 
duchess, is one of the biggest noodles in all England, — * clever. 
Sir V ' Yes,' sais I, * I heerd she was layin* all last week, and is 
a-settirC now.' Oh, Soliman I how mad she looked. ' Layin' 
and settin', Sir ? I don't understand you.' • Why,' sais I, • I 
heerd she kept her bed last week, but is so much better now, she 
sot up yesterday and drove out to-day.' * Oh ! better .'" sais she, 
* now I understand, oh yes ! thank you, she is a great deal better :' 
and she looked as chipper as possible, seein' that I warn't a pokin* 
fun at her. I guess I used them words wrong, but one good 
thing is, she won't tell the story, I know, for old marm's sake. 
I don't know whether smart is the word or no, but clever, I sup- 
pose, is. 

" Well, he's a clever old man, old Minister, too, ain't he ? 
That talk of his'n about the curling wave and national character, 
to-day, is about the best I've heern of his since you come back 
agih. The worst of it is, he carries things a leetle too far. A 
man that dives so deep into things is apt to touch bottom some- 
timers with his head, stir the mud, and rile the wafer so, he can 
hardly see his way out himself, much less show others the road. 
I guess he went a leetle too low that time, and touched the sedi- 
ment, for I don't 'xactly see that all that follows from his pre- 
mises at all. Still he is a book, and what he says about the 
pulpit and the press is true enough, that's a fact. Their in- 
fluence beats all natur'. The first time I came to England was 
in one of our splendid liners. There was a considerable number 
of passengers on board, and among them two outlandish, awk- 
ward, ongainly looking fellers, from Tammer Squatter, in the 
State o' Main. One on 'em was a preacher, and the other a 
literary gentleman, that published a newspaper. They was 
always together a'most like two oxen in a parstur, that are used 
to be yoked together. Where one was t' other warn't never at 
no great distance. They had the longest necks and the longest 
legs of any fellers I ever see — reg'lar cranes. Swaller a frog 
whole at a gulp, and bein temperance chaps, would drink cold 
water enough arter for him to swim in. The preacher had a 
rusty suit of black on, that had grown brown by way of a change. 
His coat had been made by a Tammer Squatter tailor, that carried 
the fashions there forty years ago, and stuck to 'em ever since. 
The waist was up atween the shoulders, and the tails short like a 
boy's jacket ; his trousers was most too tight to sit down com- 
fortable, and as they had no straps, they wriggled, and wrinkled, 
and worked a'most up to his knees. Onderneath were a pair of 

1 ^■ 




water-proof boots, big enough to wade across a lake in a' most. 
His white cravat looked as yaller as if he'd kept it in the imoke- 
house where he cured his hams. His hat was a yaller white, 
too, enormous high In the crown, and enormous short in the rim, 
and the nap as close fed down as a sheep pastur' — you couldn't 
pull enough off to clot your chin, if you had scratched it in 
ahavin.' Walkin' so much in the woods in narror paths, he had 
what we call the surveyor's gait ; half on him went first to dear 
the way thro' the bushes for t' other half to follow — his knees 
and his shoulders bein' the best part of a yard before him. If 
he wam't a droll boy it's a pitv. When he warn't a talkin* to 
the editor, he was walkin' the deck and studyin' a book for dear 
life, sometimes a lookin' at it, and then holdi;i' it down and 
repeatin', and then lookin* agin for a word that had slipt thro* 
his fingers. Confound him, he was always runnin' agin me, 
most knockin' me down ; so at last, * stranger,' sais I, ' yoa 
always talk when you sit, and always read when you walk ; Aow 
jist revarse the thing, and make use of your eyes, or some of 
them days you'll break your nose.' * I thank you for the hint, 
Mr. Slick,' sais he, ' I'll take your advice.' * Mr. Slick,' sais I, 
* why, how do you know me V ' Oh,' sais he, ' everybody knows 
you. I was told when I came on board you was the man that 
wrote the Clockmaker, and a very cute book it is too ; a great 
deal of human natur' in it. Come, s'pose we sit down and talk 
a leetle.' Sais I. ' that must be an entertainiu' book you are 
a-readiu' of, — what is it V * Why,' sais he, * it's ' a Hebrew 
Grammar.' * A Hebrew Grammar,' sais I, * why what on airth 
do you lam Hebrew for V Says he, * I'm a-goin' to the Holy 
Land for the sake of my health, and I want to lam a leetle of 
their gibberish afore I go.' * Pray,' sais I, * 'xcuse me, stranger, 
but what line are you in ?' ' I'm,' sais he, * a leader of the 
Christian band at Tammer Squatter.' * Can you play the key 
bugle ?' sais I, ' I have one here, and it sounds grand in the open 
air ; it's loud enough to give a pole-cat the ague. What instru- 
ments do you play on? Oh, lord !' sais I, ' let's have the gals 
on deck, and get up a dance. Have you a fiddle V * Oh,' sais 
he, ' Mr. Slick, don't bamm, I'm a minister.' • Well, why the 
plague didn't you say so,' sais I, * for I actually misunderstood 
you, I did indeed. I know they have a black band at Boston, 
and a capital one it is too, for they have most excellent ears for 
music has those niggers, but then they pyson a room so, you 
can't set in it for five minutes ; and they have a white band, and 
they are Christians, which them oncircumcised imps of darkness 






liu't i and I swear to man, I thought you meant you was a 
it'ftder of one of those white Christian bands.' * Well,' sais he, 
' I used that word leader because it's a humble word, and I am a 
humble man ; but minister is better, 'cause it ain't open to such 
a droh mistake as that.' He then up and told me he was in 
delicate health, and the Tammer Squatter ladies of his congrega- 
tion had subscribed two thousand dollars for him to take a tower 
to Holy Land, and then lecturin' on it next winter for them. 
' Oh !' sais I, ' I see you prefer bein' paid for omission better 
than a mission.' * Well,' says he, ' we airn it, and work awful 
hard. The other day as I passed thro' Bosting, the reverend 
Mr. Funny eve sais to me — Hosiah, sais he, I envy you your 
visit. I wish I could get up a case for the women too, for they 
would do it for me in a minnit ; but the devil of it is, sais he, 
I have a most ungodly appetite, and am so distressin' well, 
and look so horrid healthy, I am afeerd it won't go down. 
Do give me a receipt for lookin' pale. — Go to Tammer Squat- 
ter, sais I, and do my work in my absence, and see if 
the women won't work you off your legs in no time ; women 
havn't no marcy on bosses and preachers. They keep 'em a 
goin* day and night, and think they can't drive 'em fast enough. 
In long winter nights, away back in the country there, they ain*t 
content if they havn't strong hyson tea, and preachin' every 
night ; and no mortal man can stand it, unless his lungs was as 
strong as a blacksmith's bellows is. They ain't stingy though, 
I tell yoUi they pay down handsome, go the whole figur', and do 
the thing genteel. Two thousand dollars is a pretty little sum, 
ain't it ? and I needn't come back till it's gone. Back-wood 
preachin' is hard work, but it pays v/ell if there ain't too many 
feedin' in the same pastur'. There ain't no profession a'most in 
all our country that gives so much power, and so much influenu) 
as preachin'. A pop'lar preacher can do anything, especially if 
he is wise enough to be a comfort, and not a caution to sinners.' 

" Well, the Editor looked like a twin-brother. He wore a 
long loose brown great-coat, that h ng down to his heels. Once 
on a time it had to mount guard ( ver an under-coat ; now it was^ 
promoted. His trowsers was black, and shined in the sun as if 
they had been polished by mistake for his boots. They was a 
leetle of the shortest, too, and show'd the rim of a pair of red 
flannel drawers, tied with white tape, and a pair of thunder and 
lightning socks. He wore no shoes, but only a pair of Indian 
Rubbers, that was too big for him, and every time he took a step 


i ' 



' •! 



it made two beats, one for the rubber, and the other for the foot, 
so that it sounded like a four-footed beast. 

** They were whappers, yon may depend. They actilly looked 
like young canoes. Every now and then he'd slip on the wet 
deck, pull his foot out of the rubber, and then hop on one leg to 
t'other side, 'till it was picked up and handed to him. His shirt 
collar nearly reached his ear, and a black stock buckled tight 
round his throat, made his long neck look as if it had outgrown 
its strength, and would go into a decline, if it didn't fill out as it 
grew older. When he was in the cabin he had the table covered 
with long strips of printed paper that looked like columns cut out 
of newspapers. He, too, had got on a mission. He was a dele- 
gate from the Tammer Squatter Anti-Slavery Society that had 
subscribed to send him to attend the general meetin' to London. 
He was full of importance, and generally sat armed with two 
steel pens ; one in his hand, for use, and another atween his ear 
and his head, to^relieve guard when the other was oflF duty. He 
was a composin' of his speech. He would fold his arms, throw 
himself back in his chair, look intently at the ceiling, and then 
suddenly, as if he had caught an idea by the tail, bend down and 
write as fast as possible, until he had recorded it for ever. Then, 
relapsin' again into a brown study, he would hum a tune imtil 
another bright thought again appeared, when he'd pounce upon 
it like a cat, and secure it. If he didn't make faces, it's a pity, 
workin' his lips, twitchin' his face, winkin' his eye, lightin' up 
his brows, and wrinklin' his forehead, awful. It must be shock- 
ing hard work to write, I tell you, if all folks have such a time on ^ 
it as he had. At last he got his speech done, for he ginn over 
writin', and said he had made up his mind He supposed it 
would cost the Union the loss of the Southern States, but duty 
must be done. Tammer Squatter was not to be put down and ter- 
rified by any power on airth. One day, as I was a laying on the 
seats, taking a stretch for it, I heerd him say to the Preacher, 
* You have not done your duty. Sir. The Pulpit has left aboli- 
tion to the Press. The Press is equal to it. Sir ; but of course it 
will require longer time to do it in. They should have gone toge- 
ther. Sir, in the great cause. I shall tell the Christian ministry 
in my speech, they have not sounded the alarm as faithful sen- 
tinels. I suppose it will bring all the churches of the Union on 
me, but the Press is able to bear it alone. It's unfair tho'. Sir, 
and you don't know your power. The Pulpit and the Press ca?) 
move the world. That, Sir, is the Archimedean lever.' Tlie 



ess ca)i 

crittur was right, Squire, if two such gonies as them could talk it 
into 'em, and write it into 'em, at such an outlandish place as 
Tammer Squatter, that never would have been heerd of to the sea- 
board, if it hadn't a-been the boundary question made it talked 
of; and one on *em got sent to Holy Land, 'cause he guessed he 
looked pale, and know'd he felt lazy, and t'other sent to have a 
lark to London, on a business all the world knows London hante 
got nothin' to do with ; I say then, there can't be better proof of 
the power of the Pulpit and the Press than that. Influence is 
one thing, and power another. Influence is nothin*, any man can 
get votes ; with us, we give them away, for they ain't worth 
sellin'. But power is shown in makin* folks shell out their 
money ; and more nor half the subscriptions in the world are 
preached out of folks, or ' pressed' out of 'em — that's a fact. I 
wish they would go in harness together always, for we couldn't 
do without either on them ; but the misfortune is, that the Pulpit, 
in a gineral way, pulls agin' the Press, and if ever it succeeds, the 
world, like old Rome, mil be all in darkness, and bigotiy and 
superstition will cover the Jand. "Without the Pulpit we should 
be heathens ; without the Press we should be slaves. It becomes 
us Protestants to support one, and to protect the other. Yes ! 
they are great engines, are the Pulpit and the Press.** 

lit: •- : ;■ 


t I 


As soon as breakfast was over this morning. Colonel Slick left 
the house, as usual alone. Ever since his arrival in London, his 
conduct has been most eccentric. He never informs his son 
where he is going, and very seldom alludes to the business that 
induced him to come to Eitglaiid, and when he does, he stu- 
diously avoids any explanation. I noticed the distress of the 
Attach^, who evidently fears that he is deranged ; and to divert 
his mind from such a painful subject of conversation, asked him 
if he had not been in Ireland during my absence. 

"Ah," said he, '* you must go to Ireland, Sq|uire. It is one of 
the most beautiful countries in the world, — tew people see it, 
because they fear it. I don't speak of the people, for agitation 
has ruined them : but I speak of the face of naiur', for that is 
the work of God. It is splendid — that's a fact. There is more 







water there than in England, and of course more Ught in the 
landscape. Its features are holder, and of course more pic- 
turesque. Oh, you must see Killarney, — we haven't nothin' to 
compare to it. The Scotch lakes ain't fit to he named on the 
same day with it, — our'n are longer and hroader, and deeper and 
higger, and everything but prettier. I don't think there is 
nothin' equal to it. Loch Katrein and Loch Lomond have been 
bedeviled by poets, who have dragged all the world there to dis- 
appoint 'em, and folks come away as mad as hatters at bein' made 
fools of, when, if they had been let alone, they'd a-lied as bad 
perhaps as the poets have, and overpraised them themselves most 
likely. If you want a son not to fall in love with any splenderi- 
ferous gall, praise her up to the skies, call her an angel, say she is 
a whole team and a horse to spare, and all that : the moment the 
crittur sees her, he is a little grain disappointed, and says, * Well, 
she is handsome, that's a fact, but she is not so very very ever- 
lastin' pretty arter all.' Then he criticises her : — * Her foot is 
too thick in the instep — her elbow bone is sharp — she rouges — 
is affected, and so on ;' and the more you oppose him, the more 
he abuses her, till he swears she is misreported, and ain't hand- 
some at all ; — say nothin' to him, and he is spooney over head 
and ears in a minute ; he sees all beauties and no defects, and is 
for walkin' into her affections at oncet. Nothin' damages a gall, 
a preacher, or a lake, like over-praise ; a boss is one of the onUest 
things in natur' that is helpet by it. Now Killarney ain't over- 
praised — it tante praised half enough ; — the Irish praise it about 
the toploftiest, the Lord knows — but then nobody minds what 
they say — they blarney so like mad. But it's safe from the 
poets. My praise won't hurt it, 'cause if I was to talk till I was 
hosirse, I couldn't persuade people to go to a country where the 
sti ig was taken out of the snakes, and the pyson out of the toads, 
and the venom out of reptiles of all kinds, and given to whigs, 
demagogues, agitators, radicals, and devils of all sorts and kinds, 
who have biled it down to an essence, and poured it out into the 
national cup, until all them that drink of it foam at the mouth 
and rave like madmen. But you are a stranger, and no one there 
will hurt the hair of a stranger's head. It's only each other 
they're at. Go there and see it. It was Minister sent me there. 
Oh, how he raved about it ! * Go,' said he, ' go there of a fine 
day, when the Lake is sleeping in the sunbeams, and the jealous 
mountain extends its shadowy veil, to conceal its beautiful bosom 
from the intrusive gaze of the stranger. Go when the light sil- 
very vapour rises up like a transparent scarf, and folds itself round 



the lofty summit of Mangerton, till it is lost in the fleecy clouds 
of the upper regions. Rest on your oars, and drift slowly down 
to the base of the clifF, and give utterance co the emotions of your 
heart, and say, • Oh, God, how beautiful !' and your voice will 
awaken the sleeping echoes from their drowsy caverns, and every 
rock and every cave, and every crag, ana every peak of the 
mountain will respond to your feelings, and echo back in a thou- 
sand voices, * Oh, God, how beautiful !' Then trim your bark to 
the coming breeze, and steer for Muckross Abbey. Pause here 
again, to take a last, long, lingering look at this scene of love- 
liness—and with a mind thus elevated and purified, turn from 
nature to nature's God, and entering upon the awful solitude that 
reigns over this his holy temple, kneel on its broken altar, and 
pray to Him that made this island so beautiful, to vouchsafe in 
his goodness and mercy to make it also tranquil and happy. 
Go,' he said, ' and see it as I did, at such a time as this, and 
then tell me if you were not reminded of the Garden of Eden, 
and the passage of light whereby Angels descended and ascended, 
— when man was pure and woman innocent.' " 

" Well done, Mr. Slick," I said, " that's the highest flight I 
ever heard you undertake to commit to memory yet. You are 
really quite inspired, and in year poetry have lost your provin- 

" My pipe is out, Squire," he said, " I forgot I was talkin' to 
you ; I actilly thought I was a talkin' to the galls ; and they are so 
romantic, one must give 'em a touch above common, 'specially 
in the high circles I' me in. Minister always talks like a book, 
and since you've been gone I have been larnin' all our own na/?>;.' 
poets over and over, so as to get pieces by heart, and quote 'er^, 
and my head runs that way like. I'll be hanged if I don't think 
I could write it myself, if it would pay, and was worth while, 
which it ain't, and I had nothin' above partickelar to do, w}iicii 
I have. I am glad you checked me, tho'. It lowers one ii. the 
eyes of foreigners to talk gallish that way to men. But r? d y it 
is a fust chop place ; the clear thing, rael jam, and no mistake ; 
you can't ditto Killarney nowhere, I know." 

Here the Colonel entered abruptly, and said, " I have seed 
him, Sam, I have seed him, my boy." 

" Seen whom ?" said the Attache. 

" Why Gineral WelHngton, to be sure, the first man of the 
age, and well worth seein' he is too, especially to a military man 
like me. What's a prize ox to him, or a calf with two heads, 
or a caravan, or any other living show ?" 

s 2 







Why surely, father, you haven't been there to his house 
have you ?" 

" To be sure 1 have. What do you think I came here for, 
but to attend to a matter of vast importance to me and you, and 
all of us ; and, at spare time, to see the Tunnel, and the Gineral, 
and the Queen, and the Tower, and such critturs, eh ? Seen 
him, why, in course I have ; I went to the door of his house, 
and a good sizable one it is too, most as big as a state house, 
(only he has made the front yard look like a pound, with them 
horrid nasty great ugly barn-yard gates,) and rung the bell, and 
aais a gentleman that was there, * Your name. Sir, if you please ;' 

* Lieutenant-Colonel Slick,' sais I, * one of the Bunker Hill 
heroes.' 'Walk in here. Sir,' sais he, 'and I will see if his 
Grace is at home,' and then in a minute back he comes, and 
treats me most respectful, I must say, bowin' several times, and 
sais, 'this way, Sir,' and he throws open a door and bawls out, 

* Lieutenant-Colonel Slick.' When I come in, the Gineral was 
a sittin' down readin', but as soon as he heerd my name, he laid 
down the paper and rose up, and I stood still, threw up old 
Liberty, (you know I call this here old staflF old Liberty, for it is 
made out of the fust liberty pole ever sot up in Slickville,) — 
threw up old Liberty, and stood on the salute, as we officers do 
in reviews on Independence day, or at gineral trainin's. When 
he seed that, he started like. 'Don't be skeered,' sais I ' Gine- 
ral, don't be skeered ; I ain't a goin' for to hurt you, but jist to 
salute you as my senior officer, for it tante often two such old 
heroes like you and me meet, I can tell you. You fit at Water- 
loo, and I fit at Bunker's Hill ; you whipt the French, and we 
whipt the English ; p'raps history can't show jist two such 
battles as them ; they take the rag off, quite. I was a Sargint, 
then,' sais L ' So I should think,' sais he. ' Strange, Squire, 
ain't it, a military man can tell another military with half an 
eye ? — ' So I should think,' sais he. — There ain't no deceivin' 
of them. They can tell by the way you stand, or walk, or hold 
your head ; by your look, your eye, your voice ; by everythin ; 
there is no mistake in an old veteran. ' So I should think,' sais 
he. 'But pray be seated. I have seen your son, Sir,' sais he, 

* the Attach^ ; he has afforded us a great deal of amusement.' 
' Sam is a cute man, Gineral,' sais I, ' and always was from a 
bjy. It's ginerally allov^.'^d a man must rise airly in the mornin' 
to catch him asleep, I can tell you. Tho' I say it that shouldn't 
say it, seein' that I am his father ; he is a well-informed man in 
most things. He is a'xnost a grand judge of a boss, Gineral ; 

OR, SAM SLICK i., i^.<<GLAN£l. 


he knows their whole shape, make, and breed ; there's not a 
p'int about one he don't know ; and when he is mounted on * Old 
Clay,' the way he cuts dirt is cautionary ; he can make him pick 
up miles with his feet, and throw 'em behind him faster than 
any hoss that ever trod on iron. He made them stare a few in the 
colonies, I guess. It ain't every corn-field you can find a man 
in 'xactly like him, I can tell you. He can hoe his way with 
tuost any one I ever see. Indeed few men can equal him in 
horned cattle, either ; he can lay an ox with most men ; he can 
actilly tell the weight of one to five pounds. There is no horned 
cattle here, tho', for it's all housen.' * There are more in the 
high circles he moves in,' sais the Gineral, smilin', ' than you 
would suppose.' Oh, he smiled pretty ! he don't look fierce as 
you'd guess that an old hero would. It's only ensigns do that, 
to look big. * There are more in the high circles he moves in ' 
sais the Gineral smilin', * than you would suppose.' * There 
mought be,' sais I, * but I don't see none on 'em, for the high 
circles are all big squares here, and the pastur's are all built over, 
every inch on 'em, with stone and brick. I wonder if I could 
get some of the calves, they would improve the breed to Slick- 
ville amazingly. Sam sent me a Bedford pig, last year, and 
raelly it was a sight to behold ; small bone, thick j'int, short 
neck, broad on the back, heavy on the ham, and took next to 
nothin' to feed him, nother ; I sold the young ones for twenty 
dollars a piece, I did upon my soul, fact, I assure you, not a 
word of a lie in it. 

•* ' Well, well,' sais I, ' only think, that I, a hero of Bunker 
Hill, should have lived to see the hero of Waterloo. I wish you 
would shake hands along with me, Gineral, it will be somethin' 
to brag of, I can tell you ; it will show our folks you have for- 
given us.' • Forgiven you ?' said he lookin' puzzle.l. ' Yes,' 
says I, * forgiven us for the almighty everlastin' whippin' we give 
you, in the Revolutionary war.' ' Oh !' said he, smilin' again, 
' now I understand — oh ! quite forgiven, I assure you,' sais he, 
' quite.' ' That's noble,' sais I, 'none but a brave man forgives 
— a coward, Gineral, never does ; a brave man knows no fear, and 
is above all revenge. That's very noble of you, it shows the 
great man and the hero. It was a tremendous fight that, at 
Bunker Hill. We allowed the British to come on till we seed the 
whites of their eyes, and then we let 'em have it. Heaven and 
airth ! what capers the first rank cut, jumpin', rearin', plunginV, 
staggerin', fallin' ; then, afore they formed afresh, we laid it into 
'em agin and agin, till they lay in winrows like. P'raps nothin' 



,/ 1 





was ever seen done so beautiful in this blessed world of our'n. 
There was a doctor from Boston commanded us, and he was un- 
fortunately killed there. Tho' it's an ill wind that don't blow 
somebody good ; if the doctor hadn't got his flint fixed there, 
p'raps you'd never a-heerd of Washington. But I needn't tell 
you, in course you know all about Bunker Hill ; every one has 
heerd tell of that sacred spot.' ' Bunker Hill ! Bunker Hill !' 
sais the Gineral, pretendin' to roll up his eyes, * Bunker Hill ? — 
I think I have — where is it ?' • Where is it, eh V sais I. 'So 
you never heerd tell of Bunker Hill, eh ? and p'raps you never 
heerd tell of Lexington, nother ?' * Why,' sais he, * to tell you 
the truth. Colonel Slick, the life I have led has been one of such 
activity, I have had no time to look into a lexicon since I give up 
schoolin', and my Grciek is rather rusty I confess.' 'Why, 
damnation ! man,' sais I, ' Lexington ain't in any of them Greek 
republics at all, '.;it in our own everlastin' almighty one.' * P'raps 
you menu Vinegar Hill,' sais he, 'where the rebels fought, in 
Ireland ,' it. i£^ i?ear Inniscorthy. 'Vinegar devil,' sais I, for I 
began to t er wratny for to come for to go for to pertend that 
way. ' I don't v onder it is sour to you, and the Vinegar has 
made your mc^'wry a little mothery. No, it ain't in Ireland at 
all, but in Massa^iiusetts, near Boston.' * Oh, I beg your pardon', 
he sais, ' Oh, yes ! I do recollect now ; Oh yes ! the Americans 
fought well there, very well indeed.' ' Well, Sir,' sais I, ' I was 
at that great and glorious battle ; I am near about the sole sur- 
vivor — the only one to tell the tale. I am the only man, I guess, 
that can say, — I have seed Waterloo and Bunker's Hill — Wel- 
lington and Washington. (I put them two forrard first, tho' 
our'n was first in time and first in renown, for true politeness 
always says to the stranger, after you. Sir, is manners.) And 
I count it a great privilege too, I do indeed, Gineral. I heerd of 
you afore I come here, I can tell you ; your name is well known 
to Slickville, I assure you.* ' Oh, I feel quite flattered !' said 
Duke. * Sam has made you known, I can assure you. Indeed,' 
sais he, smilin', (there ain't nothin' ferocious about that man, I 
can tell you), ' I am very much indebt 31 to your son.' He did 
upon my soul, them were his very words, ' I am much indebted 
to your son.' I hope I may be darned to darnation if he didn't, 
* very much indebted,' he said. ' Not at all,' sais I, ' Sam would 
do that, and twice as much for you any day. He writes to my 
darter all his sayin's and doin's, and I am proud to see you and 
he are so thick, you will find him a very cute man, and if you 
want a hoss, Sam is your man. You've heern tell of Doctor 



Ivory Hovey, Gineral, hante you, the tooth doctor of SUckville ?' 
' No,' sais he, • no !' ' Not hear of Doctor Ivory Hovey, of SUck- 
ville ?' sais I. • No ; I never hesrn of him,' he sais. * Well, 
that's strange too,' sais I, ' I thought everybody had heerd tell 
of him. Well, you've sartainly heem of Deacon Westfall, him 
that made that grand spec at Alligator's Lick ?' ' I might,' sais 
he, ' but I do not recollect.' * Well, that's 'cussed odd,' sais I, 
' for both on 'em have heem of you and Waterloo too, but then v?e 
are an enlightened people. Well, they are counted the best 
judges of hoss-flesh in our country, but they both knock under to 
Sam. Yes ! if you want a boss, ax Sam, and he'll pick you out 
one for my sake, that won't stumble as your'n did t'other day, 
and nearly broke your neck. Washington was fond of a boss ; 
I suppose you never seed him ? you mought, for you are no 
chicken now in age — but I guess not.' * I never had that 
honour,' he said. He said * honour/ he did upon my soul. 
Heroes are never jealous ; it's only mean low-spirited scoundrels 
that are jealous. * I never had that honour,' he said. 

" Now I must say I feel kinder proud to hear the fust man in 
the age call it an ' honour' jist to have seed him — for it's an 
honour, and no mistake : but it ain't every one, especially a Bri- 
tisher, that is high-minded enough to say so. But Wellington is 
a military man, and that makes the hero, the statesman, and the 
gentleman — it does, upon my soul. Yes, I feel kinder proud, I 
tell you. • Well,' sais I, ' Washington was fond of a boss, and 
I'll tell you what Gineral Lincoln told me that he heard Wash- 
ington say himself with his own lips, — Show me a man that is 
fond of a boss, and I'll show you the makins of a good dragoon. 

** * Now, Sam always was fond of one from a boy. He is a 
judge, and no mistake, he caps all, that's a fact. Have you 
have ever slept with him Gineral .?' sais I. ' What, Sir ?' said he. 
* Have you ever slept with him ?' says I. * I have nev — ,' " 

" Oh, heavens and airth !" said his son ; " surely, father, you 
didn't say that to him, did you?" And then turning to me, he 
said in a most melancholy tone, *' Oh, Squire, Squire, ain't this 
too bad ? I'm a ruined man, I'm a gone sucker, I am up a tree, 
you may depend. Creation ! only think of his saying that, I 
shall never hear the last of it. Dickens will hear of it; H. B. 
will hear of it, and there will be a caricature, ' Have you slept 
with him, Gineral?" *' Speak a little louder," said the Colonel. 
" I don't hear you." " I was a sayin', Sir," said the Attach^, 
raising his voice ; " I hoped to heavens you hadn't said thht." 
Said it ? to be sure I did, and what do you thinV he answered ? 






\ ■k -jdi^ 



• I never had that honour, Sir/ he said, a-drawin* himself up, 
and lookin' proud-hke, as if he felt hurt you hadn't axed him — 
he did, upon my soul ! ' I never had that honour,' he said. So 
you see where you stand, Sam, letter A, No. 1, you do, indeed. 

* I never had the honour. Sir, to see Washington. I never had 
the honour to sleep with Sam.' Don't be skeered, boy, your 
fortin is made. I thought you might have bragged and a-boasted 
a leetle in your letters, but I now see I was mistakened. I had 
no notion you stood so high, I feel quite proud of your jiosition 
in society. 

" * As for the honour,' sais I, * Gineral, it will be all the other 
way, though the advantage will be mutual, for he can explain 
Oregon territory, right of sarch, free trade, and them things, 
better nor you'd s'pose ; and now,' sais I, * I must be a-movin', 
Duke, for I guess dinner is waitin', but I am happy to see you. 
If ever you come to Slickville, I will receive you with all due 
military honours, at the head of our Volunteer Corps, and show 
you the boys the Bunker Hill heroes have left behind 'em, to 
defend the glorious country iLey won for 'em with the sword. 
Good-bye, good-bye. I count it a great privilege to have seed 
you,* and I bowed myself out. He is a great man, Sam, a very 
great man. He has the same composed, quiet look, Washington 
had, and all real heroes have. I guess he is a great man all 
through the piece, but I was very sorry to hear you hadn't slept 
with him — very sorry indeed. You might sarve our great nation, 
and raise yourself by it too. Daniel Webster slept with the Pre- 
sident all the time he was to Slickville, and he made him Sec- 
retary of State ; and Deacon Westfall slept with Van Buren 
at Alligator's Lick, and talked him over to make him Postmaster 
General. Oh ! the next time you go to Duke's party, sais you, 
'Gineral,' sais you, 'as there is no Miss Wellington, your wife, 
now livin', I'll jist turn in with you to-night, and discuss national 
matters, if you ain't sleepy.' " 

" Airth and seas !" said the Attach^ to me, " did ever any one 
hear the beat of that ? Oh dear, dear ! what will folks say to 
this poor dear old man ? I feel very ugly, I do indeed." " I 
don't hear you," said the Colonel. " Nothin', Sir," said the 
Attache, " go on." " Sleep with him, Sam, and if he is too 
cautious on politics, why ax him to tell you of WuterloOt and do 
vou tell h,im all about Bunker Hill." 







After our return from diuner to-day, Mr. Slick said, " Squire, 
what did you think of our host ?" I said, " I thought he was 
a remarkably well informed man, and a good talker, although he 
talked rather louder than was agreeable." 

" That feller," said he, " is nothin' but a cussed Uook, and 
they are critturs that it ought to be lawful to kick to the north- 
eend of creation, wherever you meet 'em as it is to kick a dog, 
an ingian or a nigger." ** A Hook," I said, " pray what is that V* 
" Did you never hear of a Hook," he replied ; and, upon my 
answering in the negative, he said, " Well, p'raps you hante, for 
I believe ' hooks and eyes' is a tarm of my own ; they are to be 
found all over the world ; but there are more on 'em to England, 
p'raps, than any other part of the globe a'most. I got that 
wrinkle, about hooks and eyes, when 1 was just one and twenty, 
from a gall, and since then 1 find it goes thro' all natur'. There 
are Tory hooks, and Whig books, and Radical hooks, and rebel 
hooks, and so on, and they are all so mean it tante easy to tell 
which is the dirtiest or meanest of 'em. But I'll tell you the 
first thing sot me to considerin' about hooks and eyes, and then 
you will see what a grand lesson it is. 

"I was always shockin' fond of gunnin', and p'raps to this 
day there ain't no one in all Sliekville as good at shot, or bullet as 
I be. Any created thing my gun got a sight of was struck dead 
afore it knew what was the matter of it. Well, about five miles 
or so from our house, there was two most grand duck-ponds, 
where the blue-winged duck and the teal used to come, and these 
ponds was on the farm of Squire Foley. Sometimes, in the wild- 
fowl season, I used to go over there, and stay at the Squire's 
three or four days at a time, and grand sport I had too, 1 can 
tell you. Well, the Squire had but one child, and she was a 
darter, and the most beautiful erittur that ever trod in shoe- 
leather. Onion county couldn't ditto her nowhere, nor Connec- 
ticut nother. It would take away your breath a'most to look at 
her, she was so haiidsum. Well, in course, I was away all day 
and didn't see much of Lucy, except at feedin' times, and at 
night, round the tire. Well, what does Lucy do, but say she 
should like to see how ducks was shot, and that she would go 




i ! 


with me some day and look on. Well, we went the matter of 
three diflFerent momin's, tho' not hard runnin', and sot down in 
the spruce thickets, that run out in little points into the ponds, 
which made grand screens for shootin* from, at the birds. But 
old Marm Foley — Oh ! nothin' never escapes a woman ; — old 
Marm obsarved whenever Lucy was with me, I never shot no 
birds, for we did nothin' but talk, and that frightened 'em away ; 
and she didn't half like this watchin' for wild ducks so far away 
from home. ' So,' sais she (and women know how to find 
excuses, beautiful, it comes nateral to *em), 'so,' sais she, *Lucy 
dear, you mustn't go a-gunnin' no more. The dew is on the 
grass so airly in the mornin', and the bushes is wet, and you are 
delicate yourself ; your great grandmother, on your father's side, 
died of consumption, and you'll catch your death a-cold, and 
besides,' sais she, * if you must go, go with some one that knows 
how to shoot, for you have never brought home no birds yet.* 
Lucy, who was as proud as Lucifer, understood the hint at oncet, 
and was shockin' vext, but she wouldn't let on she cared to go 
with me, and that it was young Squire Slick she wanted to see, 
and not the ducks. * So,' she sais, * I was a thinkin' so too, Ma, 
for my part, I can't see what pleasure there can be settin' for 
hours shiveriu' under a wet bush jist to shoot a duck. I shan't 
go no more.* Well, next mornin* arter this talk, jist as I was 
ready to start away, down comes Lucy to the keepin'-room, with 
both arms behind her head '.-fixin' of the hooks and eyes. 
* Man alive,' sais she, ' are you here yet, I thought you was off^ 
gunnin' an hour ago ; who'd a thought you was here?* 'Gun- 
nin V says I, ♦ Lucy, my gunnin' is over, I shan't go no more 
now, I shall go home ; I agree with you ; shiverin' alone under a 

it bush for hours is no fun ; but if Lucy was there' * Get 

t,' sais she, 'don't talk nonsense, Sam, and just fasten the 
upper hook and eye of my frock, will you ? She turned round 
her back to me. Well, I took the hook in one hand and the eye 

in the other ; but airth and seas ! my eyes fairly snapped agin ; I 
never see such a neck since 1 was raised. It sprung right out o' 
the breast and shoulder, full and round, and then tapered up to 
the head like a swan's, and the complexion would beat the most 
delicate white and red rose that ever was seen. Lick, it made me 
all eyes ! I jist stood stock still, I couldn't move a finger if I 
was to die for it. 'What ails you, Sam,' sais she, 'that you 
don't hook it?' 'Why,' sais 1, 'Lucy dear, my fingers is all 
thumbs, that's a fact, I can't handle such little things as fast as 
you can.' ' Well, come,' sais she, ' make haste, that's a dear. 



< '1 

mother will be a-c )min' directly; and at last I shot too both 
my eyes, and tastern. d it, and when I had done, sais I, ' there is 
one thing I must say, Lucy.* • What's that?' sais she. ' That 
you may stump all Connecticut to show such an angeliferous 
neck as you have — I never saw the beat of it in all my bom days 

—it's the most' • And you may stump the State, too,' sais 

she, ' to produce such another bold, forward, impedent, onman- 
nerly, tongue as you have, — so there now — so get along with 

you.'—' Well, sais I, ' if ' 

" • Hold your tongue/ sais she, 'this moment, or I'll go right 
out of the room now.' 'Well,' sais I, *now I am mad, for I 
didn't mean no harm, and I'll jist go and kill ducks out of spite.' 
* Do,' sais she, * and p'raps you'll be in good humour at break- 
fast.' Well, that night I bid *em all good bye, and 8ai(' 
should be off airly and return to my own home to breakfasi 
there was some considerable little chores to be attended to there ; 
and in the mornin' as I was rakin' out the coals to light a cigar, 
in comes Lucy agin, and sais she, * good bye, Sam, take this 
parcel to Sally ; I had to git up a-purpose to give it to you, for 
I forgot it last night. I hope you will bring Sally over soon, I 
am very lonesome here.' Then she went to the glass and stood 
with her back to it, and turned her head over her shoulders and 
put both hands behind her, a-tryin' to fix the hooks and eyes 
agin, and arter fussin* and fumblin' for awhile, sais she, • I be- 
lieve I must trouble you agin, Sam, for little Byney is asleep and 
mother won't be down this half hour, and there is no one to do 
it ; but don't talk nonsense now as you did yesterday.' * Sar- 
tinly,' sais I, * but a cat may look at a kiug, I hope, as grand- 
father Slick '!ood to say, mayn't he?' ' Yes, or a queen either,' 
sais she, ' if ho only keeps his paws off.' * Oh, oh !' sais I to 
myself, sais I, ' mother won't be down for half an hour, little 
Byney is asleep, and it's pews oif, is it ?' Well, I fastened the 
hooks and eyes, though I was none of the quickest about it 
nother, I tell you, for it warn't easy to shut out a view of such a 
neck as that, and when I was jist finishin', * Lucy,' sais I, ' don't 
ask me to fasten that are agin.' * Why not?' sais she. * Why, 
because if you do, I'll, I'll, I'll, — * What will you do ?' sais she, 
— ' I'll, I'll, I'll do that,' sais I, puttin* my arms round her neck, 
tumin' up her face, and givin' her a smack that went off like a 
pistol. * Well, I never!' sais she, 'mother heard that as sure 
as you are born ! you impedent wretch you ! I'll never speak to 
you agin the longest day I ever live. You ought to be ashamed 
of yourself to act that way, so you ought. So there now. 







l^|Z8 125 

150 "^~ l^li 

■^ 1^ 12.2 

vi. .^n mil 2.0 




1125 iU III 1.6 






WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 

(716) 872-4503 







I '.»=» TW^^ ■*■" 


■ •'^■^ws*"rJ*'" 



Oh, I never in all my life 1 Get out of my sight, you horrid 
impedent crittur, eo out this minute, or I'll call mother.' Well, 
faith, I began to think I had carried it too far, so sais I, ' I beg 
pardon, Lucy, I do indeed ; if you only knew all, you wouldn't 
keep angry, I do assure you.' 'Hold your tongue,' sais she, 
' this very minit ; don't you ever dare to speak to me agin.' 

* Well,' sais I, ' Lucy, I don't return no more, — I shall go home, 
— ^we never meet again, and in course if we don't meet, we can't 
speak.' I saw her colour up at that like anything, so, sais I to 
myself, it's all right, try a leetle longer, and she'll make it up. 

* I had something,' sais I, ' to say, but it's no use now. My 
heart' — • Well I don't want to hear it,' sais she, faintly. ' Well, 
then, I'll lock it up in my own breast for ever,' sais I, ' since 
you are so cruel, — iV€ hard to part that way. My heart, Lucy,* 
— ' Well, don't tell me now, Sam,' sais she, ' you nave frightened 
me most to death.' ' Oh, I shall never tell you, you are so cruel,' 
says I. * I have a proposal to make. But my heart, — but 
never mind, good bye ;' and I put my hat on, and moved to the { 
door. * Had you heerd my proposal, I might have been happy ; 
but it's past now. I shall sail for Nova Scotia to-morrow ; good 
bye.' * Well, what is it then ?' sais she, ' I'm in a tittervation 
all over.* • Why, Lucy, dear,' sais I, * I confess I was very very 
wrong, indeed, I humbly axe your pardon, and I have a proposal 
to make, as the only way to make amends.' * Well,' sais she, 
a-lookin' down and colourin' all over, and a-twistin' o' the comer 
of her apron-frill. *well,* sais she, 'what is it, what is it, for 
mother will be here directly ?' ' No,* sais I, ' my lips is sealed 
for ever ; I know you will refuse me, and that will kill me quite.* 

* Refuse you, dear Sam,' sais she, * how can you talk so unkind ? 
Speak, dear, what is it ?' * Why,* sais I, * my proposal is to beg 
pardon, and restore what I have stolen. S'posin' I give you 
that kiss back again ; will you make up and be friends ?' Oh, 
Lord, I never saw anythin' like her face in all my life ; there 
was no pretence there ; she raelly was all taken a-back, for she 
thought I was a-goin' to offer to her in airnest, and it was nothin* 
but to kiss her agin. She was actually bung fungered. ' Well, 
I never !* sais she : and she seemed in doubt for a space, whether 
to be angry or good-natured, or how to take it ; at last she sais, 

* Well, I must say you desarve it, for your almighty everlastin* 
imperence, will you promise never to tell if I let you ?' ' Tell I' 
sais I, ' I scorn it as I do a nigger.* ' Well, there then,' said she, 
■tandin', with her face lookin' down, and I jist put my arm round 
her, and if I didn't return that kiss with every farthin* of interest 



3u horrid 
-.' Well, 
1, *Ibeg 
I wouldn't 
sais she. 
me agin.' 
go home, 
, we can't 
>, sais I to 
ake it up. 
low. My 
. 'Well. 
9 1, ' since 
irt, Lucy,* 
! so cruel,* 
eart, — ^but 
ived to the { 
en happy ; 
row ; good 
J very very 
a proposal 
,' sais she, 
the comer 
t is it. for 
)s is sealed 
me quite.* 
10 unkind ? 
tl is to beg 
'. give you 
ds?' Oh, 
life; there 
ck, for she 
iras nothin' 

• Well, 

se, whether 

st she sais, 


•Tell I* 

I,* said she, 

arm round 

of interest 

that was due, and ten per cent of premium too, it's a pity, I tell 
you, that's all I It was like a seal on wax ; it left the impression 
on her lips all day. * Ah !' sais she, ' Sam, it's time we did part, 
for you are actin foolish now ; come, here's your powder-horn 
and shot-bag, take your gun and be off. I hear mother. But, 
Sam, I rely on your honour ; be off.* And she pushed me 
gently on the shoulder, and said, ' what a sarcy dear you be,' 
and shot to the door arter me, and then opened it agin and called 
arter me, and said, * Mind you bring Sally over to see me soon, 
I'm very lonely here. Bring her soon, Sam,' As I went home, 
I began to talk to myself — Sam, sais I, 'hooks and eyes' is 
dp^.Terous things, do you jist mind what you are about, or a 
sairtm young lady with a handsome neck will clap a hook on you, 
as sure as you're born. So mind your eye. — This was a grand 
lesson ; it has taught me to watch hooks and eyes of all kinds, I 
tell you.** 

*' Sam," said Colonel Slick, rising from his chair with some 
difficulty, by supporting himself with both hands on its arms ; 
" Sam you are a d — d rascal." 

** Thank you, Sir," said his son, with a quick and inquisitive 
glance at me, expressive of his impatience and mortification. 
" Thank you, Sir, I am obleeged to you for your good opinion.** 

*' You are welcome, Sir," said his father, raising himself to his 
full height., "To take advantage of that young lady and kiss 
her, Sir, as you did, was a breach of good manners, and to kiss 
her under her father's roof was a breach of hospitality ; but to 
talk of your havin* a proposal to make, and so on, to induce her 
to let you repeat it, was a breach of honour. You must either 
marry that girl or fight her father. Sir." 

" Well, Su ," said Mr. Slick, " considerin* I am the son of a 
Bunker Hill hero and one, too, that fought at Mud Creek and 
Peach Orchard, for the honour of the name I will fight her 

"Right," said the Colonel, "seein* she despises you, as I'm 
sure she must, p'raps fightin' is the best course." 

••Oh, I'll fight him," said his son, "as soon as we return. 
He's a gone 'coon, is the old Squire, you may depend." 

" Give me your hand, Sam," said his father, " a man desarves 
to kiss a gall that will fight for her, that's a fact. That's a mili- 
tary rule, lovin' and fightin'. Sir, is the life of a soldier. When 
I was a-goin* to Bunker Hill there was a gall — " 

" Hera !" said Mr. Hopewell, turning restlessly in his chair. 

) I 

1 I 

I I 

t i 





" Sam, give me a pipe, I hardly know which to disapprove of 
most, your story or your father's comments. Bring me a pipe, 
and let us change the subject of conversation. I think we have 
had enough to-day of ' AocA» anrf eye*.' " ^^ t - 

■ ' m im^i^i t'tJ^W* 

eix- t;,.iiii^^hm.k'V. ' CHAPTER XLII. irit?itiiilf^i$4^ q^tmm 

ft ii.i * HOOKS AND EYES. — PART II. -f^ky-mliV^.^^i^^ 

-i^' t*>y.tt»ui<*.r»>ff, x'45e^ 

iff* 4Ui}3:mX:mpM^; 

" If you recollect,'* said Mr. Slick, " I was a-tellin' of you 
yesterday about hooks and eyes, and how I lamt the fust lesson 
m that worldly wisdom from Lucy Foley. Now, our friend that 
entertained us yesterday, is a hook, a Tory hook, and nothin' 
else, and I must say if there is a thing I despise and hate in this 
world, it is one of them critturs. The Tory party here, you 
know, includes all the best part of the upper crust folks in the^ 
kingdom, — most o' the prime o* the nobility, clargy, gentry,' 
army, navy, professions, and rael marchants. It has, in course, 
a vast majority of all the power, talent, vartue, and wealth of the 
kingdom a'most. In the natur' of things, therefore, it has been 
in power most o' the time, and always wiU be in longer than the 
Whigs, who are, in fact, in a gineral way not Liberals on princi- 
ple, but on interest, — not in heart, but in profession. > aiifisi^ ' 

" Well, such a party is * the eye,* or the power, and the ' hook' 
is a crooked thing made to hitch on to it. Every Tory jungle 
has one or more of these beasts of prey in it. Talk of a tiger 
hunt, heavens and airth ! it would be nothin' to the fun of huntin' 
one of these devils. Our friend is one ; he is an adventurer in 
politics and nothin' else—he talks high Tory, and writes high 
Tory, and acts high Tory, about the toploftiest ; not because he 
is one, for he is nothin', but because it curries favour, because 
it enables him to stand where he can put his hook in when a 
chance offers. He'll stoop to anythin', vnll this wretch. If one 
of his Tory patrons writes a book, he writes a review of it, and 
praises it up to the skies. If he makes a speech, he gets a 
teadin' article in its favour inserted in a paper. If his lady has a 
lap-dog, he takes it up and fondles it, and swears it is the sweetest 
one he ever seed in his life; and when the cute leetle divilj 
smellin* deceit on his fingers, snaps at 'em and half bites *em off, 
he gulps down the pain without wiukin*, and says, oh ! you are 


jealous, you little rogue, you know'd I was a goin to import a 
beautiful one from Cuba for your mistress. He is one o' them 
rascals that will crouch but not yelp when he is kicked, — he 
knows* the old pro vert, that if a feller gets a rap from a iackass, 
he hadn't ought to tell of it. If * the eye' has an old ugly 
darter, he dances with her, and takes her in to dinner ; whatever 
tastes her'n is, his'n is the same. If she plays he goes into fits, 
turns up the whites of his eyes, twirls his thumbs, and makes his 
foot move in time. If she sings, then it's a beautiful song, but 
made twice as sweet by the great effect she gives to it. After 
dinner he turns up his nose at cotton lords, and has some capital 
stories to tell of their vulgarity ; talks of the Corn-law League 
people havin' leave to hold their meetin's in Newgate ; speaks of 
the days of Eldon and Wetherall as the glorious days of old 
England, and the Reform Bill as its sunset. Peel wants firmness, 
Stanley wants temper, Graham consistency, and all want some- 
thin' or another, if * the eye' only thinks so. If there is anythin' 
to be done, but not talked of, or that can be neither done nor 
talked of, he is jist the boy for the dirty job, and will do it right 
off. That's the way you know the hook when the eye is present. 
When the eye ain't, there you will know him by his arrogance and 
impedence, by his talkin' folks down, by his overbearin' way, by 
his layin' down the law, by his pertendin' to know all state 
secrets, and to be oppressed by the weight of 'em ; and by his 
pertendin' things ain't good enough for him by a long chalk. He 
talks big, walks big, and acts big. He never caa go any- 
where with you, for he is engaged to the Duke of this, and the 
Marquis of that, and the Airl of t'other. He is jist a nuisance, 
that's a fact, and ought to be indicted. Confound him, to-day he 
eyed me all over, from head to foot, and surveyed me like, as 
much as to say, what a Yankee scarecrow you be, what standin' 
corn, I wonder, was you taken out of? When I seed him do 
that, I jist eyed him the same way, only I turned up my nose 
and the corner of my mouth a few, as much as to say, I'me a 
sneeser, a reg'lar ring-tailed roarer, and can whip my weight in 
wild cats, so look out for scaldin's, will you. When he seed that, 
he was as civil as you please. Cuss him, how I longed to feel his 
short ribs, and tickle his long ones for him. If folks could only 
read men as I can, there wouldn't be many such cattle a browsin' 
about in other men's pastur's, I know. But then, as Minister 
says, all created critturs have their use, and must live, I do sup- 
pose. The toad eats slugs, the swaller eats muskeeters, and the 



! II 

i ! 


if . ■ 




THE attache; 

hog eats rattle-snakes ; why shouldn't these leeches fasten on to 
fat old fools, and bleed them when their habit is too full. v>iirh<i 
** Well, bad as this crittur is, there is a wus one, and that is a 
Whig hook. The Whigs have no power of themselves, thfey get 
it all from the ^dicals, Romanists, Republicans, Dissenters, and 
lower orders, and so on. Their hook, therefore, is at t'other 
eend, and hooks up. Instead of an adventurer, therefore, or spe- 
kelator in politics, a Whig hook is a statesman, and fastens on to 
the leaders of these bodies, so as to get their support. Oh dear ! 
it would make you larf ready to split if you was to watch the 
menouvres of these critturs to do the thing, and yet not jist stoop 
too low nother, to keep their own position as big bugs and gentle- 
men, and yet . flatter the vanity of these folks. The decentest 
leaders of these bodies they now and then axe to their tables, 
takin' care the company is all of their own party, that they 
mayn't be larfed at for their popularity-huntin*. If they ain't 
quite so decent, but jist as powerful, why they take two or three 
on 'em at a time, bag *em, and shake 'em out into a room chock fnll^ 
of people, where they rub the dust off their clothes agin other folks ' 
afore long, and pop in the crowd. Some on 'em axe a high price. 
Owen and his SoeiaUsts made an introduction to the Queen as 
their condition. They say Melbourne made awful wry faces at it, 
like a child takin' physic ; but it was to save life, so he shot to his 
eyes, opened his mouth, and swallered it. Nothin' never shocked 
the nation like that. They love their Queen, do the English, and 
they felt this insult about the deepest. It was one o' them things 
that fixed the flint of the Whigs. It fairly frighten'd folks, they 
didn't know what onder the sun would come next. But the great 
body of these animals ain't fit for no decent company whatsom- 
ever, but have them they must, cost what it will ; and what do 
you think they do now to countenance, and yet not to associate, — 
to patronize and not come too familiar ? Why they have a half- 
way house that saves the family the vexation and degradation of 
havin' such vulgar feUers near *em. and answers the purpose of 
gratifyin' these crittars' pride. Why they go to the Reform 
Club and have a house dinner, to let these men feast their eyes 
on a lord, and do their hearts good by the sight of a star or a 
ribbon. Then they do the civil— onbend — take wine with them 
— talk about enlightened views — removing restrictions — f^melior- 
ating the condition of the people — building an altar in Ireland 
and sacrificing seven church bishops on it, to pacify the country — 
free trade — cheap bread, and all other stuff that's cheap talkin'^ — 





1 that is a 
, thfey get 
nters, and 
at t'other 
re, or spe- 
tens on to 
Oh dear! 
watch the 
, jist stoop 
tad gentle- 
leir tables, 
that they 
they ain't 
fo or three 
chock fall 
Qther folks 
high price. 
Q Queen as 
faces at it, 
shot to his 
er shocked 
Qglish, and 
bera things 
folks, they 
it the great 
' whatsom- 
id what do 
ssociate, — 
ave a half- 
radation of 
purpose of 
be Reform 
t their eyes 
a star or a 
with them 
I — ^f\inelior< 
in Ireland 
country — 
p talkin'^ — 

preach up unity — ^hint to each man if the party comes in he must 
have office — drink success to reform, shake hands and part. Fol- 
low them out arter dinner, and hear the talk of both * hooks and 
eyes.' Says the hook, ' What a vulgar wretch that was ; how he 
smelt of tobacco and gin. I'm glad it's over. I think we have 
these men, though, eh? Staunch reformers, those. 'Oad, if 
they knew what a sacrifice it was to dine with such brutes, they'd 
know how to appreciate their good luck.' This, I estimate, is 
about the wust sight London has to show ; rank, fortin, and 
station, degradin' itself for party purposes. Follow out the 
*eyes,' who, in their turn, become 'hooks' to those below 'em. 

• Lucky in gainin' these lords,' they say. ' We must make use of 
them ; we must get them to help us to pull down the pillars of 
their own house that's to crush them'. They are as bUnd as 
Sampson, it's a pity they ain't quite as strong. Go to public 
meetin's and hear their blackguard speeches; hear 'em abuse 
Queen, Albert, nobles, clargy, and all in a body for it. It wont 
do for them to except their friends that honoured *em at the 

* House dinner.' They are throwed into a heap together, and 
called every name they can lay their tongues to. Talk of our 
stump orators, they are fools to these fellers, they am't fit to hold 
a candle to 'em. We have nothin' to pull down, nothin' but 
party agin party, and therefore envy, especially envy of superiors, 
which is an. awful feelin', don't enter into their heads and pyson 
their hearts. It's * great cry and little wool' with us, and a good 
deal of fun, too ; many of these leaders here are bloodhounds ; 
they snuff gore, and are on the trail ; many of our'n snuff whis- 
key and fun, and their talk is Bunkum. I recollect oncet heerin' 
one of our western orators, one Colonel Hanibel Hombeak, of 
Sea-conch, argue this way : • Whar was General Jackson, then ? 
a givin' of the British a'most an almighty lickin' at New Orleans, 
and whar was Harrison ? a-fattin' of hogs, makin* bad bacon, and 
gettin' more credit than he desarved for it ; and whar was our 
friend here ? a-drawin' of bills on Baltimore as fast as he could, 
and a-gettin' of them discounted ; and for these reasons I vote for 
nullification.' But here it is different talk. I heerd one reformer 
say, ' when the king was brought to the block the work was well 
begun, but they stopt there ; his nobles and his bishops should 
have shared the same fate. Then, indeed, should we have been 
iree at this day. Let us read history, learn the lesson by heart, 
and be wise.' Now, don't let these folks talk to us of Bowie 
knives and Arkansau toothpicks. In our country they are used 
in drunken private quarrels ; here they are ready to use 'em in 


,\m'^1j;'"i , 



))ublic ones. ' Hooks and eyes ! I' Fll count the chain for you. 
Here it is: Ist link, — Masses; 2nd — Republicans; 3rd — Agi- 
tators ; 4th — Repealers ; 5th — Liberals ; 6th— -Whigs. This is 
the great reform chain, and a pretty considerable tarnation pre- 
cious chain it is, too, of ' hooks and eyes.' ** 

■ ':'■'- , . rft '^>Tir^ V ' 

' ~~~ ■• ■ |;-'*Ki ■,' ■ 
.. : (0 ,i 

'.. . "US ■•* 



Despatches having been received from Canada, announcing 
the resignation of the Local Cabinet, responsible government 
became, as a matter of course, a general topic of conversation. I 
had never heard Mr. Hopewell's opinion on this subject, and as I 
knew no man was able to form so correct a one as himself, I asked 
him what he thought of it. 

" If you will tell me what responsible government is," he said, ' 
'* then I will tell you what I think of it. As it is understood by 
the leaders of the Liberal party in Canada, it is independence and 
republicanism ; as it is understood here, it is a cant term of Whig 
invention, susceptible of several interpretations, either of which 
can be put upon it to suit a particular purpose. * It is a Greek 
incantation to call fools into a circle.' It is said to have originated 
from Lord Durham ; that alone is sufficient to stamp its cha- 
racter. Haughty, vain, impetuous, credulous, prejudiced, and 
weak, he imagined that theories of government could be put into 
practice with as much ease as they could be put upon paper. I 
do not think myself he attached any definite meaning to the term, 
but used it as a grandiloquent phrase, which, from its size, must 
be supposed to contain something within it ; and from its popular 
compound, could not fail to be acceptable to the party he acted 
with. It appears to have been left to common parlance to settle 
its meaning, but it is not the only word used in a different and 
sometimes opposite sense, on the two sides of the Atlantic. All 
the evil that has occurred in Canada since the introduction of 
this ambiguous phrase, is attributed to his lordship. But in this 
respect the public has not done him justice ; much good was done 
during his dictatorship in Canada, which, though not emanating 
directly from him, had the sanction of his name. He found on 
his arrival there a very excellent council collected together by Sir 
John Colbome, and they enabled him to pass many valuable 



for you. 

d— Xgi- 

This is 

tion pre- 

in ^ 

ation. I 
, and as I 
f, 1 asked 

" he said, ' 
rstood by 
ience and 
a of Whig 
of which 
9 a Greek 
p its cha- 
iced, and 
e put into 
paper. I 
the term, 
size, must 
bs popular 
f he acted 
e to settle 
'erent and 
ntic. All 
duction of 
$ut in this 
I was done 
found on 
her by Sir 

ordinances, which it has been the object of the Responsibles ever 
since to repeal. The greatest mischief was done by Poulett 
Thompson ; shrewd, sensible, laborious, and practical, he had 
great personal weight, and as he was known to have unlimited 
power delegated to him, and took the liberty of altering the 
tenure of every office of emolument in the country, he had the 
greatest patronage ever known in a British province, at his com- 
mand, and of course extraordinary official influence. ' 

" His object evidently was not to lay the foundation of a per- 
manent system of government there. That would have taken a 
longer period of time than he intended to devote tu it. It was to 
reorganise the legislative body under the imperial act, put it into 
immediate operation, carry through his measures at any cost and 
by any means, produce a temporary pacification, make a dashing 
and striking eifect, and return triumphant to Parliament, and 
say, * I have effaced all the evils that have grown out of years of 
Tory misrule, and given to the Canadians that which has so long 
and so unjustly been withheld from them by the bigotry, intoler- 
ance, and exclusiveness of that party, * Responsible Govern- 
ment. * That short and disastrous Administration has been 
productive of incalculable mischief. It has disheartened and 
weakened the loyal British party. It has emboldened and 
strengthened the opposite one, and from the extraordinary means 
used to compel acquiescence, and obtain majorities, lowered the 
tone of moral feeling throughout the country. 

*' He is now dead, and I will not speak of him in the terms I 
should have used had he been living. The object of a truly good 
and patriotic man should have been not to create a triumphant 
party to carry his measures, (because he must have known that 
to purchase their aid, he must have adopted too many of their 
views, or modified or relinquished too many of his own,) but to 
extinguish all party, to summon to his council men possessing 
the confidence of every large interest in the country, and by their 
assistance to administer the government with fairness, firmness, 
and impartiality. No government based upon any other principle 
will ever give general satisfaction, or insure tranquillity in the 
Colonies, for in politics as in other things, nothing can be perma- 
nent that is not built upon the immutable foundations of truth 
and justice. The fallacy of this • Responsibility System' is that 
it consists, as the liberals interpret it, of two antagonist principles, 
Republican and Monarchical, the former being the active, and the 
latter the passive principle. When this is the case, and there is 
no third or aristocratic body, with which both can unite, or 

T 2 



THE attache; 


which can prevent their mutual contact, it is evident the active 
principle will be the ruling one. ■■•■'^ 

*' This is not a remote but an immediate consequence, and 
as soon as this event occurs, there is but one word that expresses 
the result — independence. One great error of Poulett Thompson 
was, in strengthening, on all occasions, the democratic, and 
weakening the aristocratic, feeling of the country, than which 
nothing could be more subversive of the regal authority and influ- 
ence. Pitt wisely designed to have created an order in Canada, 
corresponding as far as the diiferent situations of the two 
countries would admit, to the hereditary order in England, but 
unfortimately listened to Whig reasoning and democratic raillery, 
and reUnquished the plan. The soundness of his views is now 
apparent in the great want that is felt of such a counterpoise, but 
I will talk to you of this subject some other time. 

" I know of no colony to which Responsible Government, as 
now demanded, is applicable ; but I know of few to which it is 
so wholly unsuitable as to Canada. If it means anything, it 
means a government responsible to the people for its acts, and of 
course pre« supposes a people capable of judging. 

" As no community can act for itself, in a body, individual 
opinion must be severally collected, and the majority of votes 
thus taken must be accepted as the voice of the people. How, 
then, can this be said to be the case in a community where a very 
large portion of the population surrenders the right of private 
judgment to its priests, and where the politic;? of the priesthood 
are wholly subservient to the advancement of their church, or 
the preservation of their nationality ? A large body like this 
in Canada will always be made larger by the addition of ambi- 
tious and unscrupulous men of other creeds, who are ever willing 
to give their talents and influence in exchange for its support, 
and to adopt its views, provided the party will adopt them. To 
make the Government responsible to such a party as thiSy and to 
surrender the patronage of the Crown to it, is to sacrifice every 
British and every Protestant interest in the country. 

" The hope and the belief, and indeed the entire conviction 
that such would be the result, was the reason why the French 
leaders accepted responsible government with so much eagerness 
and joy, the moment it was proffered. They felt that they had again, 
by the folly of their rulers, become sole masters of a country they 
were unable to reconquer, and were in the singular and anoma- 
lous condition of having a monopoly of all the power, revenue, 
authority, and patronage of the Government, without any possi- 



bility of the real owners having any practical participation in it. 
The French, aided by others holding the same religious views, and a 
few Protestant Radicals, easily form a majority ; once establish the 
doctrine of ruling by a majority, and then they are lawfully the 
government, and the exclusion and oppression of the English, in their 
own colony, is sanctioned by law, and that law imposed by England 
on itself . What a monstrous piece of absurdity, cruelty, and in- 
justice ! In making such a concession as this, Poulett Thompson 
proved himself to have been either a venr weak or a very 
unprincipled man. Let us .strive to be chantable, however diffi- 
oult it be in this case, and endeavour to hope it was an error of 
the head rather than the heart. 

" The doctrine maintained here is, that a governor, who has 
but a delegated authority, must be responsible to the power that 
delegates it, namely, the Queen's Government ; and this is un- 
douDtedly the true doctrine, and the only one that is compatible 
with colonial dependence. The Liberals (as the movement party 
in Canada style themselves) say he is but the head of his execu- 
tive council, and that that council must be responsible to the 
people. Where, then, is the monarchical principle ? or where is 
the line of demarcation between such a state and independence ? 
The language of these troublesome and factious men is, * Every 
Government ought to be able to possess a majority in the legisla- 
ture powerful enough to carry its measures ;* and the plausibility 
of this dogmatical assertion deludes many persons who are unable to 
understand the question properly. A majority is required, not to 
carry Crovernment measures, but to carry certain persons into office and 
power. A colonial administration neither has, nor ought to have, 
any government measures. Its foreign policy and internal trade, its 
post office and customs department, its army and navy, its com- 
missariat and mint, are imperial services provided for here. Its 
civil list is, in most cases, established by a permanent law. All 
local matters should be left to the independent action of members, 
and are generally better for not being interfered with. If they 
are required, they will be voted, as in times past ; if not, they 
will remain unattempted. No difficulty was ever felt on this 
score, nor any complaint ever made, until Lord Durham talked 
of Boards of Works, Commissionerships, Supervisors, Lord 
Mayors, District Intendants, and other things that at once 
awakened the cupidity of hungry demagogues and rapacious 
patriots, who fortnwitn demanded a party Government, that 
they might have party-jobs, and the execution of these lucrative 
affairs. A Government by a majority has proved itself, vrith us, 

!. 1 




to be the worst of tyrannies; but it will be infinitely more 
oppressive in the Colonies than in the States, for we have repub- 
lican institution to modify its evils. Neither that presumptuous 
man, Lord Durham, nor that reckless man, Thompson appear to 
have had the slightest idea of this difference. With ui the 
commission of a magistrate expires of itself in a few years. The 
upper branch of the legislature is elective, and the members are 
constantly changed ; while everything else is equally mutable 
and republican. In the Colonies the magistrates are virtually 
apppointed for life, and so is a legislative councillor, and the 
principle has been, in times past, practically applied to every 
office in the country. Responsible Government then, in the 
Colonies, where the elective franchise is so low as to make it 
almost universal suffrage, is a great and unmitigated republican 
principle, introduced into a country not only dependant on 
another, but having monarchical institutions wholly incompatible 
with its exercise. The magistrate in some of the provinces has 
a most extensive judicial as well as ministerial jurisdiction, and I 
need not say how important the functions of a legislative coun- 
cillor are. A temporary majority, having all the patronage, (fbr 
such is their claim, in whatever way they may attempt to explain 
it,) is by this new doctrine to be empowered to appoint its 
partisans to all these permanent offices — an evil that a change of 
party cannot remedy, and therefore one that admits of no cure. 
This has been already severely felt wherever the system has 
been introduced, for reform has been so long the cover under 
which disaffection has sheltered itself, that it seldom includes 
among its supporters any of the upper class of society. The 
party usually consists of the mass of the lower orders, and those 
just immediately above them. Demagogues easily and constantly 
persuade them that they are wronged by the rich, and oppressed 
by the great, that all who are in a superior station are enemies 
of the people, and that those who hold office are living in idle 
luxury at the expense of the poor. Terms of reproach or derision 
are invented to lower and degrade them in the pubUc estimation ; 
cliques, family compacts, obstructionists, and other nicknames, are 
liberally applied; and when facts are wanting, imagination is 
fruitful, and easily supplies them. To appoint persons from 
such a party to permanent offices, is an alarming evil. To apply 
the remedy we have, of the elective principle and short tenure of 
office, is to introduce republicanism into every department. 
What a delusion^ then, it is to suppose that Responsible Government 
is ajiplicuble to the North American provinces, or that it is anything els ■ 

[y more 
e repub- 
ppear to 
ui the 
B. The 
bers are 
and the 
to every 
in the 
make it 
dant on 
nces has 
n, and I 
ve conn- 
age, (for 
) explain 
point its 
hange of 
no cure, 
tern has 
er under 
nd those 
in idle 
imation ; 
imes, are 
nation is 
ns from 
To apply 
tenure of 
^thing els 

than practical independence as regards England, with a practical 
exclusion from influence and office of all that is good or respectable, 
or loyal, or British, as regards the cotong f 

"The evil has not been one of your own seekinff, but one that 
has been thrust upon you by the quackery of Enfflish statesmen. 
The remedv is beyond your reach ; it must be applied by a higher 
power. The time is now come when it is necessary to speak out, 
and speak plainly. If the Secretary for the Colonies is not 
firm, Canada is lost for ever /" 



The subject of Responsible Government, which had now be- 
come a general topic of conversation, was resumed again to-day 
by Mr. Slick. 

" Minister," said he, '* I quite concur with you in your idee of 
that form of colony government. When I was to Windsor, 
Nova Scotia, a few years ago, Poulett Thompson was there, 
a-waitin' for a steamer to go to St. John, New Brunswick ; and 
as I was a-passiu' Mr. Wilcox's inn, who should I see but him. 
I knowed him the moment I seed him, for I had met him to 
London the year before, when he was only a member of parlia- 
ment ; and smce the Reform Bill, you know, folks don't make no 
more account of a member than au alderman; indeed since I have 
moved in the first circles, I've rather kept out of their way. for 
they arn't thought very good company in a gineral way, I can 
tell you. Well, as soon as I met him I knowed him at once, but 
I warn't a-goiu' for to speak to him fust, seeiu' that he had 
become a big bug since, and p'raps wouldn't talk to the likes of 
me. But up he comes in a minit, and makes a low bow — he hud 
a very curious bow. It was jist a stiff low bend forrard, as a 
feller does afore he goes to take an everlastin* jump ; and sais 
he, * How do you do, Mr. Slick ? will you do me the favour to 
walk in and sit down awhile, I want to talk to you. We are 
endeavourin', you see,' sais he, ' to assimilate matters here as 
much as possible to what exists in your country.' ' So I see,' 
sais I; 'but I am ashamed to say, I don't exactly comprehend 
what responsible government is in a colony.' * Well,' sais he, ' it 
ain't easy of definition, but it will work itself out, and adjust itself 



in practice. I have given them a fresh hare to run, and that is a 
great macter. Their attention is taken off from old sources of 
strife, and fixed on this. I have broken up all old parties, shuffled 
the cards, and given them a new deal and new partners.' * Take 
care,* sais I, * that a knave doesn't turn up for trump card.' He 
looked thoughtful for a moment, and then sais, * Very good hit, 
Mr. Slick ; very good hit indeed ; and between ourselves, in 
politics I am afraid there are, everywhere, more knaves than 
honours in the pack.' I have often thought of that expression 
since — ' a fresh hare to run ;' what a principle of action for a 
statesman, warn't it 1 But it was jist like him ; he thought 
everybody he met was fools. One half the people to Canada 
didn't know what onder the sun he meant ; but they knowed he 
was 1 radical, and agin the Church, and agin all the old English 
famiLes there, and therefore they followed him. Well, he seed 
that, and thought them fools. If he'd a-lived a little grain longer, 
iie'd a-found they were more rogues than fools, them ftUers.for they 
had an axe to grind as well as him. Well, t'other half seed 
he was a schemer, and a schemer too, that wouldn't stick at 
nothin' to carry out his eends ; and they wouldn't have nothin' to 
say to him at all. Well, in course he called them fools too ; if 
he'd a-lived a little grain longer I guess he'd a found out whose 
head the fool's cap fitted best. * Well,* sais I, * it warn't a bad 
idee that, of givin' 'em ' a fresh hare to run ;* it was grand. You 
had nothin' to do but to start the hare, say ' stuboy,' clap your 
hands ever so loud, and off goes the whole pack of yelpin' curs 
at his heels like wink. It's kept them from jumpin* and fawnin', 
and cryin', and cravin', and pawin' on you for everlastin', for 
somethin' to eat, and a botherin' of you, and a spilin' of your 
clothes, don't it ? You give 'em the dodge properly that time ; 
you got that lesson from the Indgin dogs on the Mississippi, I 
guess, didn't you V * No,' sais he, lookin* one half out of sorts 
and t'other half nobsquizzled ; ' no, I was never there,' sais he. 
* Not there ?' sais I, * why, you don't say so ! Not there ? well, 
it passes all ; for it's the identical same dodge. When a dog 
wants to cross the river there, he goes to a p'int of land that 
stretches away out into the water, and sits down on his hind legs, 
and cries at the tip eend of his voice, most piteous, and howls so 
it would make your heart break to hear him. It's the most 
horrid dismal, solemcoly sound you ever know'd. Well, he keeps 
up this tune for the matter of half an hour, till the river and the 
woods ring again. Ail the crocodiles for three miles up and 
three miles down, as soon as they hear it, run as hard as they can 

a bad 




lick to the spot, for they are very humane boys them, cry like 
women at nothin' a'most, and always go where any crittur is in 
distress, and drag him right out of it. Well, as soon as the dog 
has 'em all collected, at a charity-ball like, a-waitin' for their 
supper, and a-lickin' of their chops, off he starts, hot foot, down 
the bank of the river, for a mile or so, and then souses right in 
and swims across as quick as he can pull for it, and gives them 
the sUp beautiful. Now your dodge and the Mississipi dog is so 
much alike, I'd a bet anything a'most, you took the hint from him.' 

" • What a capital story !' sais he ; * how oncommon good ! 
upon my word it's very apt ;' jist then steam-boat bell rung, and 
he off to the river too, and give me the dodge.' 

" I'll tell you what he put me in mind of. I was to Squire 
Shears, the tailor, to Boston, oncet, to get measured for a coat. 
* Squire,' sais I, 'measure me quick, will you, that's a good 
soul, for Pm in a horrid hurry.* ' Can't,' sais he, ' Sam ; the 
designer is out — sit down, he will be in directly.' ' The de- 
signer,' sais I, ' who the devil is that, what onder the sun do you 
mean ?' Well, it raised my curiosity— so I squats down on the 
counter and lights a cigar. ' That word has made my fortin', 
Sam,' sais he. * It is somethin' new. He designs the coat, that 
is what is vulgularly called — cuts it out ; — and a nice thing it is 
too. It requires a light hand, great freedom of touch, a quick 
eye, and great taste. It's all he can do, for he couldn't so much 
as sow a button on. He is an Englishman of the name of Street. 
At'tist is a common word — a foreman is a common word — a 
measurer is low, very low ; but ' a designer,' oh, it's fust chop — 
it's quite the go. ' My designer' — Heavens, what a lucky hit 
that was! Well, Mr. Thompson put me in mind of Street, 
the designer, he didn't look onlike him in person nother, 
and he was a grand hand to cut out work for others to do. 
A capital hand for makin' measures and designin'. But to 
get back to my story. He said, he had given 'em to Canada 
' a fresh hare to run.' Well, they've got tired of the chace 
at last arter the hare 'for they hante been able to catch it. 
They've returned on the tracks from where they started, and 
stand starin' at each other like fools. For the fust time they 
begin to ax themselves the question, what is responsible govern- 
ment ? Well, they don't know, and they ax the Governor, and 
he don't know, and he axes Lord John, the Colonial Secretary, 
and he don't know. At last Lord John looks wise and sais, 
' it's not onlike prerogative — its existence is admitted — it's only 
its exercise is quea^ioned.' Well, the Governor looks wise and 




sais the same, and the people repeat over the words arter him — 
look puzzled, and say they don't exactly onderstand the answer 
nother. It reminds me or w^at happened to me oneet to Brus- 
sels. I wns on the top of a coach there, a-goin' down that dread- 
ful steep hill there, not that it is so awful steep nother ; but hills 
are curiosities there, they are so scarce, and every little sharp 
pinch is called a high hill — jist as every sizeable hill to Nova 
Scotia is called a mountain. Well, sais the coachman to me, 
*Toumez la M^canique/ I didn't know what the devil he 
meant — I didn't onderstand French when it is talked that way, 
and don't now. A man must speak very slow in French for me 
to guess what he wants. ' What in natur' is that ?' sais I ; but 
as he didn't onderstand English, he just wrapt it up in three 
yards more of French, and give it back to me agin. So there 
was a pair of us. Well, the coach began to go down hill like 
winky, and the passengers put their heads out of the windows 
and bawled out ' Tournez la M^canique,' and the coachman 
roared it out, and so did people on the streets, so what does I do 
but screams out too, ' Tournez la M^canique.' Well, coachman 
seein' it war no use talkin', turned right about, put the pole 
through a pastry cook's window^ throwed down his bosses, and 
upsot the coach, and away we all went, body and bones into the 
street. When I picked myself up, the coachman comes up and 
puts his fists into my face, and sais, ' You great lummakin fool, 
why didn't you Tournez la M^canique,' and the passegners got all 
round me shakin' their fists too, sayin', * Why didn't you Tournez 
la M^cauique ?' I didn't know wnat the plague they meant, so I 
ups fist and shakes it at them, too, and roars out, 'Why in the 
name of sense,' pais I, 'didn't you Tournez la M^canique.?' 
Well, they began to larf at last, and one on 'em that spoke a 
little English, sais, * It meant to turn the handle of a little ma- 
chine that put a drag on the wheels.' ' Oh !' sais I, ' is that it ? 
What the plague's got into the feller not to speak plain English, 
if he had a-done that I should have onderstood him then.' 

" Now that's the case with this Responsible Government, it 
tante plain English, and they don*t onderstand it. As soon as the 
state coach begins to run down hill the people call out to the 
Governor ' Tournez la M^canique,' and he gets puzzled and 
roars out to Secretary, 'Tournez la M^canique,' and he gets 
mad, and sais, 'D — n you, Tournez la M^canique yourself.' 
None on 'em knows the word — the coach runs down the hill like 
lightnin', upsets and smashes everything. That comes a not 
speakin' plain English. There is only one party pleased, and 



that's a party that likes to see all goyernments upsot. They say 
' It's goin' on beautiful. It don't vfont a turn of the M^canique 
at all, and sing out, as the boatman did to his flon when the 
barge was a goin* over the falls to Ohio — * Let her went Peter, 
don't stop her, she's wrathy.' — What Minister sais is true enough. 
Government is intended for the benefit of all. All parties, there- 
fore, should, as far as possible, have a voice in the Council — and 
equal justice be done to all — so that as all pay their shot to its 
support, all should have a share in its advantages. Them fellers 
to Canada have been a howlin' in the wilderness for years — 'We 
are governed by a party — a chque — a family compact.' Well, 
England believed 'em, and the party — the clique — and the family 
compact was broken up. No sooner said than done — they turn 
right round, as quick as wink, and say — * We want a party 
government now — not that party, but our party — not that clique, 
but this clique — not that family compact, but this family com- 
pact. For that old party, clique, and compact were British in 
their language — British in their feelings, and British in their 
blood. Our party clique and compact is not so narrow and 
restricted, for it is French in its language, Yankee in its feelin', 
and Republican in its blood.' " 

" Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, with that mildness of manner 
which was his great characteristic and charm, " that is strong 
language, very.'* 

"Strong language, Sir!" said the Colonel, rising in great 
wrath, "it*s infamous — none but a scoundrel or a fool would talk 
that way. D — n me, Sir ! what are them poor benighted people 
strugglin' for, but for freedom and independence ? They want a 
leader, that*B what they want; They should fust dress them- 
selves as Indgins — go to the wharves, and throw all the tea in 
the river, as we did ; and then in the dead of the night, seize on 
the high hill back of Montreal and fortify it, and when the 
British come, wait till they see the whites of their eyes, as we did 
at Bunker Hill, and give them death and destruction for break- 
fast, as we did. D— n me, Sir !" and he seized the poker and 
waved it over his head, " let them do that, and send for me, and, 
old as I am, I'll lead them on to victory or death. Let 'em send 
for me, Sir, an( by the 'tamal, I'll take a few of my ' north- 
eend boys* with ine, and show *em what clear grit is. Let the 
British send Wellington out to command the troops if they dare, 
and I'll let him know Bunker Hill ain't Waterloo, I know. Rear 
rank, take open order — right shoulders forward — march ;" and he 
marched round the room and sat down. 





" It's very strong language that, Sam," continued Mr. Hope* 
well, who never noticed the interruptions of the Colonel, " very 
strong language indeed, too strong, I fear. It may wound the 
feelings of others, and that we have no right to do unnecessarily. 
Squire, if you report this conversation, as I suppose you will, 
leave out all the last sentence or two, and insert this : ' Respon- 
sible Govemnent is a term not well defined or understood, and 
appears to be only applicable to an independent country. But 
whatever interpretation is put upon it, one thing is certain, the 
Government of Great Britain over her colonies is one of the 
lightest, kindest, mildest^ and most paternal in the whole world.* " 



Mr. Slick's weak point was his vanity. From having risen* 
suddenly in the world, by the unaided efforts of a vigorous, unedu- 
cated mind, he very naturally acquired great self-reliance. He 
undervalued every obstacle, or, what is more probable, over- 
looked the greater part of those that lay in his way. To a vul- 
gar man like him, totally ignorant of the modes of life, a thousand 
uttle usages of society would unavoidably wholly escape his notice, 
while the selection, collocation, or pronunciation of words were 
things for which he appeared to have no perception and no ear. 
Diffidence is begotten by knowledge, presumption by ignorance. 
The more we know, the more extended the field appears upon 
which we have entered, and the more insignificant and imperfect 
our acquisition. The less we know, the less opportunity we have 
of ascertaining what remains to be learned. His success in his 
trade, his ignorance, the vulgarity of his early occupations and 
habits, and his subsequent notoriety as a humorist, all contributed 
to render him exceedingly vain. His vanity was of two kinds, 
national and personal. The first he has in common with a vast 
number of Americans. He calls his country " the greatest nation 
atween the Poles," — ^he boasts "that the Yankees are the most 
free and enlightened citizens on the face of the airth, and that 
their institutions are the perfection of human wisdom." He is of 
his father's opinion, that the battle of Bunker Hill was the 
greatest battle ever fought ; that their naval victories were the 
most brilliant achievements ever heard of; that New York is 

r. Hope* 
i, " very 
lund the 
you will, 
ood, and 
ry. But 
tain, the 
e of the 
rid: " 

mg nsen' 

iS, unedu- 

Qce. He 

)le, over- 

To a vul- 


is notice, 

)rd8 were 

no ear. 


ars upon 


we have 

)s in his 

ions and 


ro kinds, 

th a vast 

!St nation 

the most 

and that 

He is of 

was the 

were the 

York is 

superior to London in beauty, and will soon be so in extent ; and 
finally, that one Yankee is equal in all respects to two English- 
men, at least. If the Thames is mentioned, he calls it an insig- 
nificant creek, and reminds you that the Mississippi extends 
inland a greater distance than the space between Nova Scotia and 
England. If a noble old park tree is pointed out to him, he calls 
it a pretty little scrub oak, and immediately boasts of the pines of 
the Rocky Mountains, which he affirms are two hundred feet 
high. Show him a waterfall, and it is a noisy babbling little cas- 
cade compared with Niagara ; or a lake, and it is a mere duck- 
pond in comparison with Erie, Superior, Champlain, or Michigan. 
It has been remarked by most travellers, that this sort of thing is 
so common in the States, that it may be said to be almost uni- 
versal. This is not now the case. It has prevailed more gene- 
rally heretofore than at present, but it is now not much more 
obvious than in the people of any other country. The necessity 
for it no longer exists. That the Americans are proud of having 
won their independence at the point of the sword, from the most 
powerful nation in the world, under all the manifold disadvan- 
tages of poverty, dispersion, disunion, want of discipline in their 
soldiers, and experience in their officers, is not to be wondered at. 
They have reason to be proud of it. It is the greatest achieve- 
ment of modem times. That they are proud of the consummate 
skill of their forefathers in framing a constitution the best suited 
to their position and their wants, and one withal the most diffi- 
cult in the world to adjust, not only with proper checks and 
balances, but with any checks at all, — at a time too when there 
was no model before them, and all experience against them, is 
still less to be wondered at. Nor have we any reason to object to 
the honest pride they exhibit of their noble country, their enlight- 
ened and enterprising people, their beautiful cities, their magni- 
ficent rivers, their gigantic undertakings. The sudden rise of 
nations, like the sudden rise of individuals, begets under similar 
circumstances similar effects. While there was the freshness of 
novelty about all these things, there was national vanity. It is 
now an old story — their laurels sit easy on them. They are 
accustomed to them, and they occupy less of their thoughts, and 
of course less of their conversation, than formerly. At first, too, 
strange as it may seem, there existed a necessity for it. 

Good policy dictated the expediency of cultivating this self- 
complacency in the people, however much good taste might for- 
bid it. As their constitution was based on self-government, it 
was indispensable to raise the people in their own estimation, and 



THE attache; 

to make them feel the heavy responsibility that rested upon them, 
in order that they might qualify themselves for the part they were 
called upon to act. As they were weak, it was needful to confirm 
their courage by strengthening their self-reliance. As they were 
poor, it was proper to elevate their tone of mind, by constantly 
setting before them their high destiny ; and as their Republic was 
viewed with jealousy and alarm by Europe, it was important to 
attach the nation to it, in the event of aggression, by extolling it 
above all others. The first generation, to whom all this was new, 
has now passed away ; the second has nearly disappeared, and 
with the novelty, the excess of national vanity which it necessarily 
engendered will cease also. Personal vanity stands on wholly dif- 
ferent grounds. There not only is no necessity, but no justifica- 
tion for it whatever. It is always oifensive, sometimes even dis- 
gusting. Mr. Hopewell, who was in the habit of admonishing 
the Attach^ whenever he thought admonition necessary, took 
occasion to-day to enlarge on both points. As to the first, he 
observed, that it was an American failing, and boasting abroad, , 
as he often did, in extravagant terms of his country was a serious' 
injury to it, for it always produced argument, and as those who 
argue always convince themselves in proportion as they fail to 
convince others, the only result of such discussions was to induce 
strangers to search for objections to the United States that they 
knew not before, and then adopt them for ever. But as for per- 
sonal boasts, he said, they were beneath contempt. 

" Tell you what it is. Minister," said Mr. Slick, '* I am not the 
fool you take me to be. I deny the charge. I don't boast a bit 
more nor any foreigner, in fact, I don't think I boast at all. Hear 
old Bull here, every day, talkin' about the low Irish, the poor, 
mean, proud Scotch, the Yankee fellers, the horrid foreigners, the 
' nothin' but a colonist,' and so on. He asks me out to entertain 
me, and then sings * Britannia rules the waves.' My old grand- 
mother used to rule a copy book, and I wrote on it. I guess the 
British rule the waves, and we write victory on it. Then hear 
that noisy, splutteriu' crittur, Bull-Frog. He talks you dead 
about the Grand Nation, the beautiful France, and the capitol of 
the world — Paris. What do I do ? Why I only say, * our great, 
almighty republic is the toploftiest nation atween the Poles.' 
That ain't boastin', nor crackin', nor nothin' of the sort. It's 
only jist a fact, like — all men must die — or any other truth. Oh, 
catch me a-boastin' ! I know a trick worth two of that, It ain't 
pleasant to be your own trumpeter always, I can tell you. It 
reminds me," said he (for he could never talk for five minutes 



without an illustration), "it reminds me of what happened to 
Queen's father in Nova Scotia, Prince Edward as they called him 

** Oncet upon a time he was trayellin' on the Great Western 
road, and most of the rivers, those days, had ferry-hoats and no 
bridges. So his trumpeter was sent afore him to 'nounce his 
comin', with a great French-horn, to the ferryman who Uved on 
t'other side of the water. Well, his trumpeter was a Jarman, 
and didn't speak a word of English. Most all that family was 
very fond of Jarmans, they settle them everywhere a'most. When 
he came to the ferry, the magistrates and nobs, and big bugs of 
the country were fdl drawn' up in state, waitin* for Prince. In 
those days abusin' and insultin' a Governor, kickiif up shindy in 
a province, and playin' the devil there, warn't no recommendation 
in Downin* Street. Colonists hadn't got their eyes open then, 
and at that time there was no school for the blind. It was Pullet 
Thompson taught them to read. Poor critturs ! they didn't 
know no better then, so out they all goes to meet King's son, and 
pay their respects, and when Kissiukirk came to the bank, and 
they seed him all dressed in green, covered with gold lace, and 
splenderiferous cocked-hat on, with lace on it, and a great big, 
old-fashioned brass French-horn, that was rubbed bright enough 
to put out eyes, a-hangin' over his shoulder, they took him for 
the Prince, for they'd never seed nothin' half so fine afore. The 
bugle they took for gold, 'cause, in course, a Prince wouldn't 
wear nothin' but gold, and they thought it was his huntin' horn — 
and his bein' alone they took for state, 'cause he was too big for 
any one to ride with. So they all off hats at once to old Kissiu- 
kirk, the Jarman trumpeter. Lord, when he see that, he was 
bunfungered ! 

'* * Thun sie ihren hut an du verdamnter thor,' sais he, which 
means, in Enghsh, • Put on your hats, you cussed fools.' Well, 
they was fairly stumpt. They looked fust at him and bowed, 
and tben at each other ; and stared vacant ; and then he sais 
agin, • Mynheers, damn !' for that was the only English word 
he knew, and then he stampt agin, and sais over in Dutch once 
more to put on their hats ; and then called over as many 
(crooked) Jarman oaths as would reach across the river if they 
were stretched out strait. * What in natur' is that V sais one ; 
' Why, high Dutch,' sais an old man ; ' I heerd the Waldeeker 
troops at the evakyation of New York speak it. Don't you know 
the King's father was a high Dutchman, from Brunswick ; in 
course the Prince can't speak English.' ' Well,' sais the other. 






' do you know what it raeans V * In course I do/ sais Loyalist' 
(and, oh, if some o* them boys couldn't lie. I don't know who 
could, that's all ; by their own accounts it's a wonder how we 
ever got independence, for them fellers swore they won every 
battle that was fought), ' in course I do,' sais he. ' that is,' sau 
he, ' I used to did to speak it at Long Island, but that's a long 
time ago. Yes, I understand a leetle,' sais Loyalist. * His 
Boval Highness' excellent Majesty sais, — Man the ferry-boat, 
and let the magistrates row me over the ferry. — It is a beautiful 
language, is Dutch.' * So it is,' sais they, ' if one could only 
understand it,' and off they goes, and spreads out a great roll of 
home-spun cloth for him to walk on, and then they form two 
lines for him to pass through to the boat. Lord ! when he comes 
to the cloth he stops agin, and stamps like a jackass when the 
flies tease him. and gives the cloth a kick up, and wouldn't walk 
on it, and sais in high Dutch, in a high Jarman voice too, ' You 
infamal fools ! — ^you stupid blockheads ! — you cussed jackasses !'. 
and a great deal more of them pretty words, and then walked on. 
' Oh, dear !' sais they, * only see how he kicks the cloth ; that'*, 
cause it's homespun. Oh, dear! but what does he say?' saia 
they. Well, Loyalist felt stumpt ; he knew some screw was 
loose with the Prince by the way he shook his fist, but what he 
couldn't tell ; but as he had begun to lie he had to go knee deep 
into it, and push on. ' He sais, he hopes he may die this blessed 
minit if he won't tell his father, the old King, when he returns 
to home, how well you Iiave behaved,' sais he. * and that it's a 
pity to soil such beautiful cloth.' * Oh !' sais they, * was that 
it ? we was afraid somethin' or another had gone wrong ; come, 
let's give three cheers for the Prince's Most Excellent Majesty,' 
and they made the woods and the river ring agin. Oh, how mad 
Kissenkirk was ! he expected the Prince would tie him up and 
give him five hundred lashes for his impedence in representin' of 
him. Oh ! he was ready to bust with rage and vexation. He 
darsn't strike any one, or he would have given 'em a slap with 
the horn in a moment, he was so wrathy. So what does he do 
as they was holdin' the boat, but ups trumpet and blew a blast in 
the Gustos' ear, all of a sudden, that left him hard of hearin' on 
that side for a month ; and he sais in high Dutch, ' Tunder and 
blitzen ! Take that, you old fool ; I wish I could blow you into the 
river.* Well, they rowed him over the river, and then, formed 
agin two lines, and Kissenkirk passed up atween 'em as sulky as 
a bear ; and then he put his hand in his pocket, and took out 
somethin', and held it out to Gustos, who dropt right 4Qwn 9^ 



'. -^is-X'^^K-i^ii' Li; i ",' "iPikhf 



his knee in a minit, and received it, and it was a fourpenny bit. 
Then Kissinkirk waved his hand to them to be off quick-stick, 
and muttered agin somethin' which Loyalist said was ' Go across 
agin and wait for my sarvants,' which they did. ' Oh !* sais the 
magistrates to Gustos, as they was a-goin' back agin, ' how could 
you take pay, squire ? How could you receive money from 
rrince ? Our county is disgraced for ever. You have made us feel 
as mean as Ingians.* ' I wouldn't have taken it if it had been 
worth anything sais Gustos, ' but didn't you see his delicacy ; he 
knowed that too, as well as I did, so he offered me a fourpenny 
bit, as much as to say. You are above all pay, but accept the 
smallest thing possible, as a keepsake from Kmg's son.* ' Those 
were his very words,' sais loyalist ; * I'll swear to 'era, the very 
identical ones.' ' I thought so,' sais Gustos, lookins big. *I 
hope I know what is due to his Majesty's Royal Hi^ness, and 
what is due to me, also, as Gustos of this county. And he drew 
himself up stately, and said nothin*, and looked as wise as the 
owl who had been studyin' a speech for five years, and intended 
to speak it when he got it by heart. Jist then down comes 
Prince and all his party, galloppin' like mad to the ferry, for he 
used to ride always as if old Nick was at his heels ; jist like a 
streak of lightniu . So up goes the Gustos to prince, quite free 
and easy, without so much as touchin' his hat, or givin' him the 
time o* day. ' What the plague kept you so long ?' sais he ; 
• your master has been waitin' for you this half-hour. Gome, 
bear a hand, the Prince is all alone over there.' It was some 
time afore Prince made out what he meant ; but when he did, if 
he didn't let go it's a pity. He almost upsot the boat, he larfed 
so obstroperous. One squall o' larfin' was hardly over afore 
another come on. Oh, it was a tempestical time, you may de- 
pend ; and when he'd got over one fit of it, he'd say, ' Only 
think of them takin' old Kissinkirk for me !' and he'd larf agip 
ready to split. Kissinkirk was frightened to death ; he didn't 
know how Prince would take it, or what he would do, for he was 
an awful strict officer ; but when he seed him larf so he knowed 
all was right. Poor old Kissinkirk ! the last time I seed him 
was to "Windsor. He lived in a farm-house there, on charity. 
He'd larnt a little English, though not much. It was him told 
me the story ; and when he wound it up, he sais, ' It tante always 
sho shafe. Mishter Shlick, to be your own drumpeter ;' and I'll 
tell you what. Minister, I am of the same opinion with the old 
bugler. It is not always safe to be one's own trumpeter, and 
that's a fact." 






■ '' .. •' WMU'. -^! •• 

Ever since we have been in London we have taken " The 
Times " and "The Morning Chronicle," so as to have before us 
both sides of every question. This morning, these papers were, 
as usual, laid on the breakfast-table ; and Mr. Slick, after glanc- 
ing at their contents, turned to Mr. Hopewell, and said, 
" Minister, what's your opinion of O'Connell's proceedings ? 
What do you think of him f" 

" I think differently from most men, Sam," he said ; " I 
neither ioin in the unqualified praise of his friends, nor in the 
wholesale abuse of his enemies, for there is much to approve and 
much to censure in him. He has done, perhaps, as much good 
and as much harm to Ireland as her best fnend or her worst ^ 
enemy. I am an old man now, daily treading on the confines of ' 
the grave, and not knowing the moment the ground may sink 
under me and precipitate me into it. I look, therefore on all 
human beings with calmness and impartiality, and besides being 
an American and a Republican, I have no direct interest in the 
man's success or failure, farther than they may affect the happi- 
ness of the great human family. Looking at the struggle, 
therefore, as from an eminence, a mere spectator, I can see the 
errors of both sides, as clearly as a by-stander does those of two 
competitors at a game of chess. My eyesight, however, is dim, 
and I find I cannot trust to the report of others. Party spirit 
runs so high in Ireland, it is difficult to ascertain the truth of 
anything. Facts are sometimes invented, often distorted, and 
always magnified. No man either thinks kindly or speaks 
temperately of another, but a deadly animosity has superseded 
Christian charity in that unhappy land. We must not trust to 
the opinions of others, therefore, but endeavour to form our 
own. Now, he is charged with being a Roman Catholic. The 
answer to this is, he has a right to be one if he chooses — as 
much right as I have to be a Churchman ; that if I differ from 
him on some points, I concur with him in more, and only jgrieve 
we cannot agree in all ; and that whatever objections I have to 
his Church, I have a thousand times more respect for it than I 
have for a thousand dissenting political sects, that disfigure and 
degrade the Christian world. Then they say, * Oh, yes, but he 




is a bigoted Fhpist I' Well, if they have nothing worse than this 
to allege against him, it don't amount to much. Bigotry means 
an unusual devotion, and an extraordinary attachment to one's 
church. I don't see how a sincere and zealous man can be other- 
wise than bigoted. It would be well if he were imitated in this 
respect by Protestants. Instead of joining schismatics and 
sectarians, a little more bigoted attachment to our excellent 
Mother Church would be safer and more respectable for them, 
and more conducive to the interests of true religion. But the 
great charge is, he is an Agitator ; now I don't like agitation 
even in a good cause. It is easy to open flood-gates, but always 
difficult, and sometimes impossible, to close them again. No ; I 
do not like agitation. It is a fearful word. But if ever there 
was a man justified in resorting to it, which I doubt, it was 
O'Connell. A Romish Catholic by birth, and, if you will have 
it, a bigoted one by education, he saw his countrymen labouring 
under disabilities on account of their faith, — what could be more 
natural for him than to suppose that he was serving both God 
and his country, by freeing his Church from its distinctive and 
degrading badge, and elevating Irishmen to a political equality 
with Englishmen. The blessings of the priesthood, and the 
gratitude of the people, hailed him wherever he went ; and when 
he attained the victory, and wrested the concession from him who 
wrested the sceptre from Napoleon, he earned the title, which he 
has since worn, of ' the Liberator.' What a noble and elevated 
position he then stood in ! But, Sam, agitation is progressive. The 
impetus of his onward course was too great to suffer him to rest, 
and the * Liberator* has sunk again into the Agitator, without 
the sanctity of the cause to justify, or the approval of mankind 
to reward him. Had he then paused for a moment, even for a 
moment, when he gained emancipation, and looked around him, 
what a prospect lay before him whichever way he turned, for 
diffusing peace and happiness over Ireland ! Having secured an 
equality of political rights to his countrymen, and elevated the 
position of the peasantry,— had he then endeavoured to secure 
the rights of the landlord, and revive the sympathy between 
them and their tenants, which agitation had extinguished ; had 
he, by suppressing crime and outrage, rendered it safe for 
absentees to return, or for capital to flow into his impoverished 
country — had he looked into the future for images of domestic 
comfort and tranquillity to delight the imagination, instead of 
resorting to the dark vistas of the past for scenes of oppression 
and violence to inflame the passions of his countrymen — had he 

u 2 






held out the right hand of fellowship to his Protestant brethren, 
and inyited and induced them to live in the unity of love and the 
bonds of peace with their Romish neighbours* his second victory 
would have surpassed the first, and the stern Liberator would 
have been a^ain crowned amid the benedictions of all, as * the 
Father' of his country. But, alas I agitation has no tranquil 
eddies to repose in ; it rides on the billow and the tempest, and 
lives but on the troubled waters of the deep. ,„^ jf ,,,,. 

" Instead of this happy condition, what is now the state of 
Ireland ? The landlord flies in alarm from a home that is no 
longer safe from the midnight marauder. The capitalist refuses 
to open his purse to develop the resources of a country, that is 
threatened with a civil war. Men of different creeds pass each 
other with looks of defiance, and with that stern silence that 
marks the fixed resolve, to ' do or die.' The Government, in- 
stead of being able to ameliorate the condition of the poor, is 
engaged in garrisoning its forts, supplying its arsenals, and pre- 
paring for war ; while the poor deluded people are drawn away , 
from their peaceful and honest pursuits, to assemble in large 
bodies, that they may be inflamed by seditious speeches, and 
derive fresh confidence from the strength or impunity of numbers. 

** May God of his infinite goodness have mercy on the author 
of all these evils, and ho purify his heart from the mistaken 
motives that now urge him onwards in his unhappy course, that 
he may turn and repent him of his evil way, while retui^UL IB yet 
practicable, and repentance not too late I 

" Now, what is all this excitement to lead to ? A Repeal of 
the Union ? what is that ? Is it independence, or is it merely a 
demand for a dependant local legislature ? If it is independence, 
look into futurity, and behold the state of Ireland at the end of 
a few years. You see that the Protestants of the North have 
driven out all of the opposite faith, and that the Catholics, on 
their part, have exiled or exterminated all the heretics from 
the South. You behold a Chinese wall of separation run^ 
ning across the island, and two independent, petty, sepa- 
rate States, holding but little intercourse, and hating each 
other with an intensity only to be equalled by tribes of savages. 
And how is this unhappy condition to be attained ? By a cruel, 
a wicked, and a merciless civil war, for no war is so bloody as a 
domestic one, especially where religion, terrified at its horrors, 
flies from the country in alarm, and the banner of the Cross is 
torn from the altar to be desecrated in the battle-field. Sam, I 
have seen one, may my eyes never behold another. No tongue 



and the 

r would 

as 'the 
lest, and 

state of 
lat is no 
t refuses 
\ that is 
iss each 
ace that 
nent, in- 
poor, is 
and pre- 
wn away , 
in lai^ 
hes, and 
le author 
irse, that 
irn is yet 

lepeal of 
merely a 
le end of 
rth have 
lolics, on 
ics from 
Ion run^ 
ng each 
a cruel, 
ody as a 
Cross is 
Sam, I 
> tongue 

can tell, no pen describe, no imaeination conceive its 1 nrrors. 
Even now, after the lapse of half a centur}', I shudder at the 
recollection of it. If it be not independence that is sought, but 
« local legislature, then Ireland descends from an integral purt of 
the empire into a colony, and the social position of the people is 
deteriorated. Our friend, the Squire, who, at this moincnt, is 
what O'Connell desires to be, a colonist, is labouring incessantly 
to confirm and strengthen the connexion of the possessions abroad 
with England, to break down all distinctions, to procure for his 
countrymen equal rights and privileges, and either to abolish that 
word ' English,' and substitute ' British,' or to obliterate the 
term * Colonial,' and extend the generic term of English to all. 
He is demanding a closer and more intimate connexion, and in- 
stead of excluding Colonists from Parliament, is anxious for them 
to be represented there. In so doing he evinces both his pa- 
triotism and his loyalty. O'Connell, on the contrary, is strug- 
gling to revive the distinction of races, to awaken the hostility of 
separate creeds, to dissolve the Political Union. If he effects his 
purpose, he merely weakens England, but he rwM Ireland. This 
line of conduct may originate in his bigotry, and probably it does, 
but vanity, temper, and the rent, are nevertheless to be found at 
the bottom of this boiling cauldron of agitation. 

'*0h! that some Father Matthew would arise, some pious 
priest, some holy bishop, some worthy man (for they have many 
excellent clergymen, learned prelates, and great and good men in 
their Church), and staff in hand, like a pilgrim of old, preach up 
good will to man, peace on earth, and Unity of Spirit. Even yet 
the struggle might be avoided, if the good would act wisely, and 
the wise act firmly. Even now 0*Connell, if he would adopt this 
course, and substitute conciliation for agitation (for hitherto con- 
ciliation has been all on the other side), would soon have the 
gratification to see his country prosperous and happy. While 
those who now admire his talents, though they deprecate his 
conduct, would gladly unite in acknowlednng the merits, and 
heaping honours on the ' Pacificator of aU Ireland.' No, my 
friends, so far from desiring to see the Union dissolved, as a 
philanthropist and a Christian, and as a politician, I say, * Esto 



> n 







ill ! 




After dinner to-day the conversation turned upon the treaties 
existing between England and the United States, and I expressed 
my regret that in ail, the Americans had a decided advantage. 

" Well, I won't say we hante," said Mr. Slick. " The truth 
is, we do understand diplomacy, that's a fact. Treaties, you see, 
are bargains, and a feller would be a fool to make a bad bargain, 
and :f there ain't no rael cheatin' in it, why a man has a right to 
make as good a one as he can. We got the best of the Boundary 
Line, that's a fact, but then Webster ain't a crittur that looks as 
if the yeast was left out of him by mistake, he ain't quite as soft 
as dough, and he ain't onderbaked nother. Well, the tariff is a 
good job for us too, so is the fishery story, and the Oregon will 
be all right in the eend too. We write our clauses, so they bind ; 
your diplomatists write them so you can drive a stage-coach and 
six through 'em, and not touch the hobs on either side. Our 
socdolagers is too deep for any on 'em. So polite, makes such 
soft-sawder speeches, or talks so big ; hints at a great American 
market, advantages of peace, difficulty of keepin' our folks from 
goin' to war ; boast of our old home, same kindred and language, 
magnanimity and good faith of England ; calls compensation for 
losses only a little affair of money, knows how to word a sentence 
so it will read like a riddle, if you alter a stop, grand hand at an 
excuse, gives an answer that means nothing, dodge and come 
up t'other side, or dive so deep you can't follow him. Yes, we 
have the best of the treaty business, that's a fact. Lord ! how I 
have often laughed at that story of Felix Foyle and the horse- 
stealer ! Did I ever tell you that contrivance of his to do the 
Governor of Canada ?" 

•' No," I replied, " I never heard of it." He then related the 
story, with as much glee as if the moral delinquency of the act, 
was excusable in a case of such ingenuity. 

•* It beats all," he said. " Felix Foyle lived in the back part 
of the State of New York, and carried on a smart chance of 
business in the provision line . Beef, and pork, and flour was his 
staples, and he did a great stroke in 'em. Perhaps he did to the 
tune of four hundred thousand dollars a year, more or less. 


e truth 
ou see, 
right to 
ooks as 
! as soft 
riff is a , 
>on will 
ly bind ; 
ftch and 
:es such 
Iks from 
ition for 
id at an 
id come 
fes, we 
how I 
do the 

ited the 
[the act, 

Lck part 
Vance of 
I was his 
to the 
lor less. 



Well, in course, in such a trade as that, he had to employ a good 
many folks, as clerks, and salters, and agents, and what not, and 
among them was his book-keeper, Sossipater Cuddy. Sossipater 
(or Sassy, as folks used to call him, for he was rather high in 
the instep, and was Sassy by name and Sassy by natur' too,) — 
well. Sassy was a 'cute man, a good judge of cattle, a grand hand 
at a bargain, and a'most an excellent scholar at figures. He was 
ginerally allowed to be a first-rate business man. Only to give 
you an idee, now, of that man's smartness, how ready and up to 
the notch he was at all times, I must jist stop fust, and tell you 
the story of the cigar. 

" In some of our towns we don't allow smokin' in the streets, 

though in most on 'em we do, and where it is agin law it is two 

dollars fine in a gineral way. Well, Sassy went down to Bosten 

to do a little chore of business there, where this law was, only he 

didn't know it. So, as soon as he gets off the coach, he outs with 

his case, takes a cigar, lights it, and walks on smokin' like a 

furnace flue. No sooner said than done. Up steps constable, 

and sais, * I'll trouble you for two dollars for smokin' agin law in 

the streets.' Sassy was as quick as wink on him. * Smokin' !' 

sais he, * I warn't a smokin'.' * Oh, my !' sais constable, * how 

you talk, man. I won't say you lie, 'cause it ain't polite, but it's 

very like the way I talk when I lie. Didn't I see you with my 

own eyes ?' * No,' sais Sassy, ' you didn't. It don't do always 

to believe your own eyes, they can't be depended on more nor 

other people's. I never trust mine, I can tell you. I own I 

had a cigar in my mouth, but it was because I like the flavour of 

the tobacco, but not to smoke. I take it it don't convene with 

the dignity of a free and enlightened citizen of our almighty 

nation to break the law, seein' that he makes the law himself, and 

is his own sovereign, and his own subject too. No, I warnt 

smokin', and if you don't believe me, try this cigar yourself, and 

see if ain't so. It hante got no fire in it.* Well, constable takes 

the cigar, put it into his mug, and draws away at it, and out 

comes the smoke like any thin'. 

*' • I'll trouble you for two dollars, Mr. High Sheriff devil,' 
sais Sassy, • for smokin' in the streets ; do you underconstand, 
my old 'coon V Well, constable was all taken aback, he was 
finely bit. ' Stranger,' sais he, * where was you raised ?' ' To 
Canady line,' sais Sassy. * Well,' sais he, *your a credit to your 
broghtens up. Well, let the fine drop, for we are about even I 
guess. Lets liquor ;' and he took him into a bar and treated him 
o a mint-julep. It was ginerally considered a great bite that, 











and I must say I don't think it was bad — do you ? But to get 
back to where I started from. Sassy, as I was a-sayin', was the 
book-keeper of old Felix Foyle. The old gentleman sot great 
store by him, and couldn't do without him, on no account, he was 
so ready like, and always on hand. But Sassy thought he could 
do without him, tho*. So, one fine day, he absgotilated with four 
thousand dollars in his pocket, of Felix's, and cut dirt for Canady 
as hard as he could clip. Felix Foyi^e was actilly in a most beau- 
tiful frizzle of a fix. He knew who he had to deal with, and that 
he might as well follow a fox a'most as Sassy, he was so ever- 
lastin' cunnin*, and that the British wouldn't give up a debtor to 
us, but only felons ; so he thought the fust loss was the best, and 
was about givin' it up as a bad job, when an idee struck him, and 
off he started in chase with all steam on. Felix was the clear grit 
when his dander was up, and he never slept night or day till he 
reached Canady, too ; got on the trail of Sassy, and came up to 
where he was airthed at Niagara. "When he arrived it was about 
noon, so as he enters the tavern he sees Sassy standin' with his 
face to the fire and his back to the door, and what does he do 
but slip into the meal-room and hide himself till night. Jist as 
it was dark in comes old Bambrick, the inn-keeper, with a light 
in his hand, and Felix slips behind him, and shuts too the door, 
and tells him the whole story from beginnin' to eend ; how Sassy 
had sarved him ; and lists the old fellow in his sarvice, and off 
they set to a magistrate and get out a warrant, and then they goes 
to the deputy-sheriff and gets Sassy arrested. Sassy was so 
taken aback he was hardly able to speak for the matter of a minit 
or so, for he never expected Felix would follow him into Canady 
at all, seein' that if he oncet reached British side he was safe. 
But he soon come too agin, so he ups and bullies. * Pray, Sir,* 
sais he, ' what do you mean by this V ' Nothin' above parti- 
kelar,' sais Felix, quite cool, only I guess I want the pleasure of 
your company back, that's all,' and then turnin' to the onder 
sheriff, * Squire,* sais he, * will you take a turn or two in the 
entry, while Sassy and I settle a little matter of business together,' 
and out goes Nab. • Mr. Foyle,' sais Sassy, * I have no business 
to settle with you — arrest me, Sir, at your peril, and I'll action 
you in law for false imprisonment.' • Where's my money ?' sais 
Felix — * where's my four thousand dollars ?' ' "What do I know 
about your money ?' sais Sassy." • Well,* sais Felix, * it is your 
business to know, and I paid you as my book-keeper to know, 

must list return with me and find out. 



that's all — so come, let's us be a-movin'. Well, Sassy larfed right 



out in his face ; *why you cussed fool,' sais he, * don't you know 
I can't be taken out o* this colony State, but only for crime, what 
a rael soft horn you be to have done so much business and not 
know that ?' ' I guess I got a warrant that will take you out tho',' 
sais Felix—* read that,* a-handin' of the paper to him. * Now I 
shall swear to that agin, and send it to Governor, and down will 
come the marchin' order in quick stick. I'm soft, I know, but I 
ain't sticky for all that, I ginerally come off clear without leavin' 
no part behind.' The moment Sassy read the warrant his face 
fell, and the cold perspiration rose out like rain-drops, and his 
colour went and came, and his knees shook like anythin*. * Hoss- 
stealin' !* sais he, aloud to himself — ' hoss-stealin' ! — Heavens and 
airth, what parjury ! ! Why, Felix,' sais he, * you know devillish 
well I never stole your boss, man ; how could you go and swear 
to such an infamal lie as that ?' * Why I'm nothin' but ** a cussed 
fool" and a "rael soft horn," you know,' sais Felix, *a8 you said 
list now, and if I had gone and sworn to the debt, why you'd a 
kept the money, gone to jail, and swore out, and I'd a-had my 
trouble for my pains. So you see I swore you stole my boss, for 
that's a crime, tho' absquotolative ain't, and that will force the 
British Governor to deliver you up, and when I get you into New 
York state, why you settle with me for my four thousand dollars, 
and I will settle with you for stealin' my boss,' and he put his 
finger to the rip eend of his nose, and winked and said, * Young 
folks think old folks is fools, but old folks know young folks is 
fools. I warn't born yesterday, and I had my eye-teeth sharp- 
ened before your'n were through the gums, I guess — you hante 
fot the Bosten constable to deal with now, I can tell you, but old 
'elix Foyle himself, and he ain't so blind but what he can feel 
his way along I guess — do you take my meanin', my young 
'coon ?' * I'm sold,' sais Sassy, and he sot down, put both 
elbows on the table, and covered his face with his hands, and 
fairly cried like a child. ' I'm sold,' sais he. ' Buy your pardon, 
then,' sais Felix, ' pay down the four thousand dollars, and you 
are a free and enlightened citizen once more.' Sassy got up, un- 
locked his portmanter, and counted it out all in paper rolls jist as 
he received it. ' There it is,' sais he, ' and I must say you 
desarve it ; that was a great stroke of your'n.' * Stop a bit,' sais 
Felix, seein* more money there, all his savin's for years, ' we ain't 
done yet, I must have five hundred dollars for expenses.' ' There, 
d — n you,' sais Sassy, throwin' another roll at him, ' there it is ; 
are you done yet ?' • No,' sais Felix, * not yet ; now you have done 
me justice* I must do you the same, and clear your character. 

'■ ii 


1; la 


THE attache; 

Call in that gentleman, the constable, from the entry, and I will 
go a treat of half a pint of brandy. — Mr. Officer,' sais Felix — 
' here is some mistake, this gentleman has convinced me he was 
only follerin', as my clerk, a debtor of mine here, and when he 
transacts his business, will return, havin' left his hoss at the lines, 
where I can get him if I choose ; and I must say I am glad on't 
for the credit of the nation abroad. Fill your glass, here's a five 
dollar bill for your fees, and here's to your good health. If you 
want provision to ship off in the way of trade, I'm Felix Foyle, 
and shall be happy to accommodate you.' 

" Now," said Mr. Slick, " that is what I call a rael clever 
trick, a great card that, warn't it ? He desarves credit, does 
Felix, it ain't every one would a-been up to trap that way, is it ?" 

" Sam," said his father, rising with great dignity and for- 
mality of manner, ''was that man, Felix Foyle, ever a military 

" No, Sir ; he never had a commission, even in the militia, as 
I knows on." 

" I thought not," said the Colonel, " no man, that had seen 
military life, could ever tell a lie, much less take a false oath. 
That feller. Sir, is a villain, and I wish Washington and I had 
him to the halberts ; by the 'tarnal, we'd teach him to disgrace 
our great name before those benighted colonists. A liar. Sir ! as 
Doctor Franklin said, the great Doctor Franklin, him that burnt 
up two forts of the British in the revolution war, by bringin' 
down lightnin' on 'em from Heaven by a wire string), — a liar, 
Sir ! Show me a liar, and I'll show you a thief." 

" What was he?" said Mr. Hopewell. 

" A marchant in the provision line," said the Attach^. 

" No, no ; I didn't mean that," he replied. " What sect did 
he belong to ?" 

" Oh ! now I onderstand. Oh ! a wet Quaker to be sure, they 
are the 'cutest people its ginerally allowed we have in all our 

'* Ah !" said the Minister, " I was certain he was not brought 
up in the Church. We teach morals as well as doctrines, and 
endeavour to make our people exhibit the soundness of the one 
by the purity of the other. I felt assured, either that he could 
not be a churchman, or that his parish minister must have grossly 
and wickedly neglected his duty in not inculcating better princi- 

"Yes," said Mr. SHck, with a very significant laugh, "and he 
warn't a clockmaker, nother." 



" I hope not," said his father, gravely, " I hope not, Sam. 
Some on 'em," (looking steadily at his son), " some on 'em are 
so iley and slippery, they do squeeze between a truth and a lie 
so, you wonder how it was ever possible for mortal man to go 
thro', but for the honour of the clockmakers, I hope he warn't 

"No," said Mr. Slick, "he warn't, I assure you. But you. 
Father, and Minister, and me, are all pretty much tarred with 
the same stick, I guess — we all think, all trades have tricks but our 





To-day we witnessed the interment of Thomas Campbell, the 
author of " The Pleasures of Hope," in the Poet's Corner in 
"Westminster Abbey. Owing to some mismanagement in the 
arrangements, a great part of the friends of the deceased did not 
arrive until the service was nearly half over, which enabled us, 
who were very early in the Abbey, to obtain a good position 
within the barriers. Sir Robert Peel, the Duke of Argyle, Lord 
Brougham, and a great number of noblemen and statesmen, were 
present to do honour to his remains, while the service was read 
by Mr. Milman — himself a distinguished poet. For a long time 
after the ceremony was over, and the crowd had dispersed, we 
remained in the abbey examining the monuments, and discoursing 
of the merits or the fortunes of those whose achievements had 
entitled them to the honour of being laid with the great and the 
good of past ages, in this national temple of Fame. Our attention 
was soon arrested by an exclamation of Mr. Shck. 

" Hullo !" said he, "how the plague did this feller get here? 
Why, Squire, as I' me a livin' sinner, here's a colonist! what 
crime did he commit that they took so much notice of him ? 
' Sacred to the memory of William Wragg, Esq., of South 
Carolina, who, when the American colonies revolted from Great 
Britain, inflexibly maintained his loyalty to the person and 
government of his Sovereign, and was therefore compelled to 
leave his distressed family and ample fortune.' Oh Lord ! I 
thought it must have been some time before the flood, for loyalty 
in the colonies is at a discount now ; its a bad road to prefer- 






ment, I can tell you. Agitation, biillyin' governors, sliootin' 
down sogers, and rebellin' is the passport now-a-days. Them 
were the boys Durham and Thompson honoured ; — all the loyal 
old cocks, all them that turned out and fought and saved the 
country, got a cold shoulder for their officiousness. But they are 
curious people is the English ; they are like the Deacon Flint — 
he never could see the pint of a good thing till it was too late. 
Sometimes arter dinner he'd bust out a larfin' like anything, for 
all the world as if he was a born fool, seemin'ly at nothin', and 
I'd say, * Why, Deacon, what mage;ot's bit you now V ' I was 
larfin',' he'd say, * at that joke of your'n this mornin' ; I didn't 
take jist then, but I see it now.' * Me !' sais I,' * why what did 
I say, it's so long ago I forget!' 'Why,' sais he, * don't you 
mind we was a talkin' of them two pirates the jury found not 
guilty, and the court turned loose on the town ; you said it was 
all right, for they was loose characters. Oh ! I see it now, it was 
raeljam that.' *0h!' sais I, not overly pleased nother, for a 
joke, like an egg, is never no good 'xcept it's fresh laid — is it ? 

" Well, the English are like the old Deacon ; they don't see a 
man's merit till he's dead, and then they wake all up of a sud- 
den and say, *Oh! we must honour this feller's skeleton,' and 
Peel, and Brougham, and all the dons, go and play pall-bearers 
to it, stand over his grave, look sentimental, and attitudenize a 
few ; and when I say to 'em you hadn't ought to have laid him 
right a top of old Dr. Johnson — for he hated Scotchmen so like 
old Scratch ; if he was to find it out he'd kick strait up on eend, 
and throw him oflF; they won't larf, but give me a look, as much 
as to say, Westminster Abbey ain't no place to joke in. Jist as 
if it warn't a most beautiful joke to see these men, who could 
have done ever so much for the poet in his lifetime, when it could 
have done him good — but who never oven so much as held out 
a finger to him, except in a little matter not worth bavin' — now 
he is dead, start up all at once and patronize his body and bones 
when it can't do him one mossel of good. Oh ! they are like 
Deacon Flint, they understand when it's too late. 

" Poor old Tom Campbell, there was some pleasures of hope 
that he never sot down in his book, I know. He hoped — as he 
had charmed and delighted the nation, and given *em another 
ondyin' name, to add to their list of poets, to crack and to brag 
of — he'd a had a recompense at least in some government ap- 
pointment that would have cheered aud soothed his old age, and 
he was disappinted, that's all : and that's the pleasures of hope, 
Squire, eh? He hoped that fame, which he had in his life, 


would have done him some good in his life — didn't he ? Well, 
he lived on that hope till he died, and that didn't disappint him ; 
for how can a feller say he is disappinted by a thing he has lived 
on all his days ? and that's the Pleasures of Hope. 

" He hoped, in course. Peel would be a patron of poets — and 
so he is, he acts as a pall-bearer, 'cause as soon as the pall is over 
him, he'd never bother him, nor any other minister no more. 
Oh ! ' Hope told a flatterin' tale ;' but all flatterers are liars. 
Peel has a princely fortune, and a princely patronage, and is a 
prince of a feller ; but there is an old sayin', * Put not your trust 
in Princes.' If poor Tom was alive and kickin', I'd tell him 
who to put his trust in — and that's Bentley. He is the only 
patron worth havin', that's a fact. He does it so like a gentle- 
man : ' I have read the poem, Mr. Campbell, you were so kind 
as to indulge me with the perusal of ; if you would permit me to 
favour the world with a sight of it, I shall have great pleasure 
in placin' a cheque for two thousand guineas in your banker's 

•' Oh ! that's the patron. The great have nothin' but smiles 
and bows, Bentley has nothin' but the pewter — and that's what I 
like to drink my beer out of. Secretaries of State are cattle it's 
pretty hard to catch in a field, and put a bridle on, I can tell 
you. No, they have nothin' but smiles, and it requires to onder- 
stand the language of smiles, for there are all sorts of them, and 
they all speak a different tongue. 

" I have seen five or six of them secretaries, and Spring Rice, 
to my mind, was the tqploftiest boy of 'em all. Oh ! he was the 
boy to smile ; he could put his whole team on sometimes if he 
liked, and run you right oiF the road. Whenever he smiled very 
gracious, followed you to the door, and shook you kindly by the 
hand, and said, — call again, your flint was fixed : you never seed 
him no more. Kind-hearted crittur, he wanted to spare you the 
pain of a refusal, and bein* a little coquettish he puts his prettiest 
smile on as you was never to meet agin, to leave a favourable im- 
pression behind him ; they all say — call agin : Bentley, never ! 
No pleasures of hope with him > he is a patron, he don't wait for 
the pall. 

" Peel, sportsman-like, is in at the death ; Bentley comes with 
the nurse, and is in at the birth. There is some use in such a 
patron a? ibat. Ah ! poor Campbell ! he was a poet, a good poet, 
a beautiial poet ! He knowed all about the world of imagination, 
and the realms of fancy ; but he didn't know nothin' at all about 
this world of our'n, or of the realm of England, or he never 





would have talked of the * Pleasures of Hope' for an author. 
Lord hless you ! let a dancin' gall come to the opera, jump six 
foot high, 'light on one toe, hold up the other so high you can 
see her stays a'most, and then spin round like a daddv-lono; legs 
that's got one foot caught in a taller candle, and go spinnin' 
round arter that fashion for ten minits, it will touch Peel's heart in 
a giffy. This spinnin' jinny will be honoured by the highest folks 
in the land, have diamond rings, goold snuff-boxes, and pusses of 
money given her, and gracious knows what. 

** Let Gineral Tom Thumb come to London that's two foot 
nothin', and the Kentucky boy that's eight foot somethin', and 
see how they will be patronised, and what a sight of honour they 
will have. Let Van Amburg come with his lion, make him open 
his jaws, and then put his head down his throat and pull it out, 
and say, ' What a brave boy am I !' and kings and queens, and 
princes and nobles will come and see him, and see his lion feed 
too. Did any on 'em ever come to see Campbell feed .'' he was 
a great lion this many a long day. Oh dear ! he didn't know 
nothin', that's a fact; he thought himself a cut above them 
folks : it jist showed how much he know'd. Fine sentiments ! 
Lord, who cares for them ! 

" Do you go to Nova Scotia now, and begin at Cape Sable, and 
travel all down to Cape Canso, — the whole length of the province, 
pick out the two best lines from his * Hope,' and ask every feller 
you meet, * did you ever hear these ? and how many will you find 
that has seen 'em, or heerd tell of 'em } Why a few galls 
that's sentimental, and a few boys that's a-courtin', spooney-like, 
that's all. 

" But ax 'em this, * Master, if that house cost five hundred 
dollars, and a barrel of nails five dollars, what would a good size- 
able pig come to ? — do you give it up ?' Well, he'd tome 
to a bushel of corn Every man, woman, and child would tell 
you they heerd the clown say that to the circus, and that they 
mind they larfed ready to kill themselves. Grinnin' pays better 
nor rhymin', and ticklin' the ribs with fingers pleases folks more, 
and makes 'em larf more, than ticklin' their ears with varses — 
that's a fact. 

" I guess, when Campbell writ ' The Mariners of England,' — 
that wUl live till the Britisher's sailors get whipped by us so they 
will be ashamed to sing it — he thought himself great shakes ; 
heavens and airth ! he warn't half so big as Tom Thumb — he was 
jist nothin'. But let some foreign hussey, whose skin ain't clear 
and whose character ain't clear, and whose debts ain,'t clear and 




who hante nothin' clear about her but her voice, let her come and 
sing that splendid song that puts more ginger into sailors than 
grog or prize money, or anythm', and Lord I all the old admirals 
and flag-officers, and yacht-men and others that do onderstand, 
and all the lords and ladies and princes, that don't onderstand 
where the springs are in that song, that touch the chords of the 
heart — all on 'era will come and worship a'most ; and some young 
Duke or another will fancy he is a young Jupiter, and come down 
in a shower of gold a' most for her, while the poet has ' The 
Pleasures of Hope' to feed on. Oh 1 I envy him, glorious man, 
I envy him his great reward; it was worth seventy years of 
hope,' was that funeral. 

" He was well repaid — Peel held a string of the pall, Brougham 
came and said • how damn cold the Abbey is :' the Duke of 
Argyle, Scotchman-like, rubbed his back agin Roubilliac's statue 
of his great ancestor, and thought it was a pity he hadn't 
migrated to Prince Edward's Island; D' Israeli said he was one 
of the ' Curiosities of Literature ;' while Macaulay, who looks 
for smart things, said, * Poor fellow, this was always the object 
of his ambition ; it was his * hope beyond the grave.' '* 

" Silence, Sir," said Mr. Hopewell, with more asperity of 
manner than I ever observed in him before ; " silence. Sir. If 
you will not respect yourself, respect, at least, the solemnity of 
the place in which you stand. I never heard such unworthy 
sentiments before ; though they are just what might be expected 
from a pedlar of clocks. You have no ideas beyond those of 
dollars and cents, and you value fame as you would a horse, by 
what it will fetch in ready money. Your observations on the 
noblemen and gentlemen who have done themselves honour this 
day, as well as the poet, by taking a part in this sad ceremony, 
are both indecent and unjust ; while your last remark is abso- 
lutely profane. I have every reason to believe, Sir, that he had 
' a hope beyond the grave.' All his writings bear the stamp of a 
mind strongly imbued with the pure spirit of religion : he must 
himself have felt ' the hope beyond the grave' to have described it 
as he has done ; it is a passage of great beauty and sublimity. 

" ' Eternal hope ! when yonder spheres sublime 
Pealed their first notes to sound the march of Time, 
Thy joyous youth began — but not to fade, — 
When all the sister planets have decay'd ; 
When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, 
And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below ; 
Thou undismay'd, shalt o'er the ruins smile, 
And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile.' 


THE attache; 

" We have both done wrong to-day, my son ; you have talked 
flippantly and irreverently, and I have suffered my temper to be 
agitated in a very unbecoming manner, and that, too, in conse- 
crated ground, and in the house of the Lord. I am not disposed 
to remain here just now — let us depart in peace — give me your 
arm, my son, and we will discourse of other things." 

When we returned to our lodgings, Mr. Slick, who felt hurt at 
the sharp rebuke he had received from Mr. Hopewell, recurred 
again to the subject. 

*^ That was one of the old man's crotchets to-day. Squire," he 
said ; " he never would have slipt off the handle that way, if that 
speech of Macaulay's hadn't a-scared him like, for he is as 
skittish as a two-year-old, at the least sound of such a thing. 
Why, I have heerd him say himself, the lot of a poet was a hard 
one, over and over again ; and that the world let them fust starve 
to death, and then built monuments to 'em that cost more money 
than would have made 'em comfortable all their bom days. 
Many and many a time, when he used to make me say over to , 
him as a boy * Gray's Elegy,' he'd say, * Ah ! poor man, he was 
neglected till attention came too late. — ^When he was old and 
infarm, and it could do him no good, they made him a professor 
in some college or another ;' and then he'd go over a whole 
string — Mason, Mickle, Burns, and I don't know who all, for I 
ain't much of a bookster, and don't recollect ; — and how often 
I've heerd him praise our Government for makin' Washington 
Irvin' an embassador, and say what an example we sot to Eng- 
land, by such a noble spontaneous act as that, in honorin' letters. 
I feel kinder hurt at the way he took me up, but I'll swear I'm 
right arter all. In matters and things of this world, I won't 
give up my opinion to him nor nobody else. Let some old 
gineral or admiral do something or another that only requires the 
courage of a bull, and no sense, and they give him a pension, 
and right off the reel make him a peer. Let some old field- 
officer's wife, go follerin' the army away back in Indgy further 
than is safe or right for a woman to go, — git taken pris'ner, give 
a horrid sight of trouble to the army to git her back, and for 
this great service to the nation she gits a pension of five hundred 
pounds a-year. But let some misfortunate devil of an author do 
— what only one man in a century can, to save his soul alive, 
write a book that will live — a thing that does show the perfection 
of human mind, and what do they do here ? — let his body live 
on the * Pleasures of Hope' all the days of his life, and his 
name live afterwards on a cold white marble in Westminster 



r to be 

le your 

hurt at 

re," he 
, if that 
e is as 
I thing. 
I a hard 
t starve 
5 money 
a days, 
over to , 
, he was 
old and 
a whole 
ill, for I 
w often 
to Eng- 
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and his 

Abbey. They be hanged — the whole bilin' of them — them and 
their trumpery procession too, and their paltry patronage of 
standin' by a grave, and sayin', • Poor Campbell I' 

" Who the devil cares for a monument, that actilly desarves one 9 
He hM built one that will live when that are old Abbey crumbles 
down, and when all them that thought they was honorin' him 
are dead and forgotten ; his monument was built by his own 
brains, and his own hands, and the inscription ain't writ in Latin 
nor Greek, nor any other dead language, nother, but in a livin' 
language, and one too that will never die out now, seein' our 
great nation uses it — and here it is — 

" ' The Pleasures of Hope, by Thomas Campbell.' " 



Mr. Slick having as usual this morning boasted of the high 
society he mingled with the preceding evening, and talked with 
most absurd familiarity, of several distinguished persons, very 
much to the delight of his father, and the annoyance of Mr. 
Hopewell, the latter at last interrupted him with some very 

1'udicious advice. He told him he had observed the change that 
iad come over him lately with very great regret ; that he was 
altogether in a false position and acting an unnatural and absurd 

" As a Republican," he said, *' it is expected that you should 
have the simplicity and frankness of manner becoming one, and 
that your dress should not be that of a courtier, but in keeping 
with your character. It is well known here that you were not 
educated at one of our universities, or trained to official life, and 
that you have risen to it like many others of our countrymen, 
by strong natural talent. To assume, therefore, the air and 
dress of a man of fashion is quite absurd, and if persisted in will 
render you perfectly ridiculous. Any little errors you may make 
in the modes of life will always be passed over in silence, so long 
as you are natural ; but the moment they are accompanied by 
affectation, they become targets for the shafts of satire. 

" A little artificial manner may be tolerated in a very pretty 

'If y 

I i 




woman, because great allowance is to be made for female vanity ; 
but in a man it is altogether insufferable. Let your conversation 
therefore be natural, and as to the fashion of your dress take the 
good old rule — • . ' > /mi <- .. 

'*' Be not the first by whom the new is tried, t. ."il^r, 

Nor yet the last to lay tlie old aside.' ill 

•( ."1 • 

Ui<'. !!«• 


In short, be Sam Slick." 

" Don't be afeerd, Minister," said Mr. Slick, " I hare too 
much tact for that. I shall keep the channel, and avoid the 
bars and shallows, I know. I never boast at all. Brag is a 
good dog, but hold-fast is a better one. I never talk of society 
I never was in, nor never saw but once, and that by accident. I 
have too much sense for that : but I am actillv in the first circles 
here, quite at home in 'em, and in speakuig of 'em. I am only 
talkin' of folks I meet every day, see every day, and jaw 
with every day. I am part and parsel of 'em. Now risin' 
sudden here ain't a bit stranger than men risin' with us. It's 
done every day, for the door is wide open here ; the English ain't 
doomed to stand still and vegitate like cabbages, I can tell you ; 
it's only colonists like Squire there, that are forced to do that. 
Why, they'll tell you of a noble whose grandfather was this, and 
another whose grandfather was that small beer ; of one who 
was sired by a man that was born in our old Boston, and another 
whose great-grandfather was a farmer on Kenebec river, and if the 
family had remained colonists would have been snakin' logs with 
an ox-team to the Bangor mills, instead of being a minister for all 
the colonies, as he was not long ago. No, catch me a crackin' 
and a braggin' for nothin', and then tell me of it. I'm not 
a-goin' to ask every feller I meet, 'Don't I look pale?' like 
Soloman Figg, the tailor to St, John, New Brunswick — him they 
caUad the * Iron God.' " 

" Oh, oh, Sam !" said Mr. Hopewell, lifting up both hands, 
" that was very profane ; don't tell the story if there's any 
irreverence in it, any flippancy, anything, in short, at all unbe- 
coming. That is not a word to be used in vain." 

" Oh never fear. Minister, there is nothin' in the story to 
shock you ; if there was, I'm not the boy to tell it to any one, 
much less to you. Sir." 

" Very well, very well, tell the story then if it's harmless, but 
leave that word out when you can, that's a good soul !" 

'* Soloman Figg was the crittur that give rise to that sayin' all 



inity ; 
ke the 

) ,'t M'f 

M r\ < ■ ' 

'■ '!«'>■' 

ire too 
oid the 
ig is n 
ent. I 
t circles 
in only 
id jaw 
V risin' 
8. It's ' 
sh ain't 
ell you ; 
lo that, 
his, and 
le "who 
id if the 
for all 
m not 
?' like 
im they 


e's any 

1 unbe- 

story to 
my one, 

;ss, but 

lyin' all 


over New Brunswick and Nova Scotit, * Don't I look pale ?' and 
I calculate it never will die there. Wheuover they see an im- 

Eortant feller a-struttin' of it by, in tip-top dress, Iryin' to do a 
it of fine, or hear a crittur a-brasgiu' of great men's acquaint* 
ance, they jist puts their finger to their nnstc, gives a wink to one 
another, and say, * Don't I look pale?* Oh, it's grand! But I 
believe I'll begin at the beginnin , and jist tell you both stories 
about Soloman Figg. 

'* Soloman was a tailor, whose tongue ran as f^t as his 
needle, and for sewin' and talkin' perhaps there warn't his equal 
to be found nowhere. His shop was a great rondivoo for folks 
to talk politics in, and Soloman was an out-and-out Radical. 
They are ungrateful skunks are English Radicab, and ingratitude 
shows a bad heart : and in my opinion to say a feller's a Radical, 
is as much as to say he's everything that's bad. I'll tell you 
what's observed all over England, that them that make a fortin 
out of gentlemen, as soon as they shut up shop turn round, 
and become Radicals and oppose them. Rauicalism is like that 
Dutch word Spitzbube. It's everything bad biled down to an 
essence. Well, Soloman was a Radical — he was agin the 
Church, because he had no say in the appointment of the 
parsons, and couldn't bully them. He was agin lawyers 'cause 
they took fees from him when they sued him. He was agin 
judges 'cause they rode their circuits and didn't walk. He was 
agin the governor 'cause the governor didn't ask him to dine. 
He was agin the admiral 'cause pursers had ready-made clothes 
for sailors, and didn't buy them at his shop. He was agin the 
army 'cause his wife ran off with a soagcr — the only good 
reason he ever had in his life ; in short, he was agin everything 
and everybody. 

" Well, Soloman's day came at last, for every dog has his day 
in this world. Responsible government came, things got turned 
upside down, and Soloman turned up, and was made a magistrate 
of. Well, there was a Carolina refugee, one Captain Nestor 
Biggs, lived near him, an awful feller to swear, most o' those 
refugees were so, and he feared neither God nor man. 

" He was a sneezer of a sinner was Captain Nestor, and always 
inlaw for everlastin'. He spent his whole pension in Court, 
folks said. Nestor went to Soloman, and told him to issue a 
writ agin a man. It was Soloman's first writ, so sais he to hhn - 
self, * I'll write fust afore I sue ; writin's civil, and then I can 
charge for letter and writ too, and I'm always civil when I'm paid 
for it. Mother did right to call me Soloman, didn't she?' 

X 2 







Well, he wrote the letter, and the man that got it didn't know 
what under the sur? to make of it. This was the letter — 

" * Sir, if you do not return to Captain Nestor Biggs, the Iron 
God of his, now in your possession, I shall sue you. Pos is the 
word. Given under my hand, Soloman Figg, on" of her most 
gracious Majesty's Justices of the Peace in and for the County 
of St. John.' 

" Radicals are great hands for all the honors themselves, tho' 
they won't ginn none to others. ' Well,' sais the man to him- 
self, • what on earth does this mean V So off he goes to the 
church parson to read it for him. 

" * Dear me,' sais he, * this is awful ; what is this ? I hy 
itself, I-r-o-n — Iron, G-o-d — God. Yes, it is Iron God ! — Have 
you got such a graven image V 

" * Me,' sais the man, * No ; I nev^r heard of such a thing.' 

" ' Dear, dear,' sais the parson, * I always knew the Captain was 
a wicked man, a horrid wicked man, but I did'nt think he was 
an idolater. I thought he was too sinful to worship anything, even 
an iron idol. What times we live in, let's go to the Captain.' 

*' Well, off they sot to the Captain, and when he heerd of this 
graven image, he swore and raved — so the parson put a finger in 
each ear, and ran round the room, sereamin' like a stuck pig. 

* I'll tell you what it is, old boy,' says the Captain, a rippin* out 
some most awful smashers, ' if you go on kickin' up such a row 
here, I'll stop your wind for you double-quick, so no mummery, 
if you please. Come along with me to that scoundrel, Soloman 
Figg, and I'll make him go down on his knees, and beg pardon. 
What the devil does he mean by talkiu' of iron idols, I want to 

" Well, they went into Soloman's house, and Soloman, who 
was sittin' straddle-legs on a counter, a sewin* away for dear life, 
jumps down in a minit, ons shoes and coat, and shows 'em into 
his office, which was jist opposite to his shop. * Read that. Sir,' 
sais the Captain, lookin' as fierce as a tiger ; * read that, you 
everlastin' radical scoundrel ! did you write that infamous letter ?* 
Soloman takes it, and reads it all over, and then hands it back, 
lookin' as wise as an owl. • Its all right,' sais he. * Right,' sais 
the Captain, and he caught him by the throat. * What do you 
mean by my " Iron God," Sir? what do you mean by that, you 
infernal libellin', rebel rascal }' ' T never said it,' said Soloman. 

* No, you never said it, but you wrote it.' * I never wrote it ; no, 
nor I never heerd of it.' ' Look at these words,' said the Cap- 
tain, * did you write them V ' Well, well,' sais Soloman, * they 



do spell alike, too, don't they ; they are the identical same letters 
G-o-d, dog ; I have spelt it backwards, that's all ; it's the iron 
dog. Captain ; you know what that is — don't you. Squire : it is an 
iron wedge sharped at one eend, and havin' a ring in it at t'other. 
It's drove into the but eend of a log, an' a chain is hooked to 
the ring, and the cattle drag the log eend-ways by it on the 
ground ; it is called an iron dog.' Oh, how the Captain swore !" 

"Well," said the Minister, "never mind repeating his oaths ; 
he must have been an ignorant magistrate indeed not to be able 
to spell dog." 

" He was a Radical magistrate of the Jack Frost school. Sir," 
said Mr. Slick. " The Liberals have made magistrates to Eng- 
land not a bit better nor Soloman, I can tell you. Well, they 
always called him arter that the Iron G ." 

" Never mind what they called him," said Mr. Hopewell ; 
" but what is the story of looking pale, for there is a kind of 
something in that last one that I don't exactly like ? There are 
words in it that shock me ; if you could tell the story without 
them, it is not a bad story ; tell us the other part." 

" Well, you know, as I was a sayin', when responsible govern- 
ment came to the Colonies, it was like the Reform bile to Eng- 
land, stirring up the pot, and a settin' all a fermentin', set a 
good deal of scum a floatin' on the top of it. Among the rest, 
Soloman, being light and frothy, was about as buoyant as any. 
When the House of Assembly met to Fredericton, up goes Solo- 
man, and writes his name on the book at Government House— 
Soloman Figg, J. P. Down comes the Sargent with a card, quick 
as wink, for the Governor's ball that night. Soloman warn't a 
bad lookin' feller at all ; and bein' a tailor, in course he had his 
clothes well made ; and, take him altogether, he was jist a leetle 
nearer the notch than one half of the members was, for most on 
'em was from the country, and looked a nation sight more like 
Caraboos than legislators; indeed the nobs about Fredericton 
always call them Caraboos. 

" Well, his tongue wagged about the limberest you ever see ; 
his head was turned, so he talked to every one ; and at supper 
he eat and drunk as if he never see vittals afore since he was 
weaned. He made a great night of it. Our Consul told me he 
thought he should have died a larfin' to see him : he talked 
about the skirts of the country, and the fork of the river, and 
button-hole connections, and linin' his stomach well, and basting 
the Yankees, and everything but cabbaging. No man ever heerd 
a tailor use that word, any more than they ever see a Jew eat 


THE attache; 



pork. Oh ! he had a reg'lar lark of it, and his tongue ran like a 
mill-wheel, whirlin' and sputterin' like any thin'. The officers of 
the regiment that was statimied there took him for a Mem- 
ber of Assembly, and seein' he was a character, had him np to 
the mess to dine next day. 

" Soloman was as amazed as if he was jist bom. * Heavens 
and airth V said he, * responsible government is a great thin' too, 
ain't it. Here am I to Government House with all the big bugs 
and their ladies, and upper crust folks, as free and easy as an old 

glove. To-day I dine with the officers of regiment, the 

most aristocratic regiment we ever had in the Province. I wish 
my father had put me into the army ; I'd rather wear a red 
coat than make one any time. One thing is certain, if respon- 
sible government lasts long, we shall all rise to be gentlemen, or 
else all gentlemen must come down to the level of tailors, and no 
mistake ; one coat will fit both. Dinin' at a mess, eh ! Well, 
why not ? I can make as good a coat as Buckmaster any day.' 

** Well, Soloman was rather darnted at fust by the number of 
sarvants, and the blaze of uniform coats, and the horrid difficult 
cookery ; but champagne strenghtened his eyesight, for every 
one took wine with him, till he saw so clear he strained his eyes ; 
for they grew weaker and weaker arter the right focus was passed, 
till he saw things double. Arter dinner they adjourned into the 
barrack-room of one of the officers, and there they had a game 
of * Here comes I, Jack upon hips.* 

''The youngsters put Soloman, who had a famous long back, 
jist at the right distance, and then managed to jump jist so as to 
come right on him, and they all jumbed on him, and down he'd 
smash with the weight ; th»i they'd banter him for not bein* 
game, place him up agin in line, jump on him, and smash him 
down agin till he could not hold out no longer. Then came hot 
whisky toddy, and some screechin' songs ; and Soloman sung, 
and the officers went into fits, for he sung such splendid songs ; 
and then his health was drunk, and Soloman made a speech. He 
said, tho' he had a ' stitch* in the side from laughin', and was 
* sewed up* a' most too much to speak, and was afraid he'd *rip 
out* what he hadn't ought> yet their kindness had *tied' him as 
with ' list* to them for ' the remnant* of his life, and years would 
never *spong^ it out of his heart. 

" They roared and cheered him so, a kinder confused him, for 
he couldn't recollect nothin' arter that, nor how he got to the 
inn ; but the waiter told him four sodgers carried him in on a 
shutter. Next day» off Soloman started in the steam-boat for 




St. John. The officers had took him for a Member of Assembly, 
and axed him jist to take a rise out of him. When they lamed 
the mistake, and that it was ready-made Figg, the tailor, they 
had been makin' free with, they didn't think it was half so good 
a joke as it was afore ; for they seed one half of the larf was agin 
them, and only t'other half agin Soloman. They never tell the 
story now ; but Soloman did and still does like a favourite air 
with variations. As soon as he got back to St. John, he went 
about to every one he knew, and said, * Don't I look pale ?' 
• Why, no, I can't say you do.' * Well, I feel used up enough to 
look so, I can tell you. I'm ashamed to say I've been horrid 
dissipated lately. I was at Government House night before last.' 

*' * You at Government House ?' * Me ! to be sure ; is there 
anything strange in that, seeing that the family compact is gone, 
the Fredericton clique broke up, and 'sponsible governments 
come ? Yes, I was to Government House — it was such an agree- 
able party ; I believe I staid too late, and made too free at 
supper, for I had a headache next day. Sad dogs them officers 

of the regiment ; they are too gay for me. I dined there 

yesterday at their mess ; a glorious day we had of it — free and 
easy — all gentlemen — no damn starch airs, sticking themselves 
up for gentlemen, but rael good fellers. I should have gone 
home arter mess, but there's no gettin' away from such good 
company. They wouldn't take no for an answer ; nothin' must 

serve them but I must go to Captain 'sroom. Ton honour, 

'twas a charming night. Jack upon hips — whisky speeches, 
songs and whisky again, till I could hardly reach home. Fine 

fellers those of the regiment, capital fellers ; no nonsense 

about them ; had their shell jackets on ; a stylish thing them 
shell jackets, and not so formal as full dress nother. What a 
nice feller Lord Fetter Lane is ; easy excited, a thimble full does it, 
but it makes him as sharp as a needle.' 

"Then he'd go on till he met another friend ; he'd put on a 
doleful face, and say, * Don't I look pale ?' * Well, I think you 
do; what's the matter?' and then he'd up and tell the whole 
story, till it got to be a by-word. Whenever any one sees a feller 
now a-doin' big, or a-talkin' big, they always say, * Don't I look 
pale V as ready-made Figg said. 

" Now, Minister, I am not like Soloman, I've not been axed 
by mistake, I'm not talkin' of what I don't know ; so don't be 
afeerd, every one knows me ; tante necessary for me, when I go 
among the toploftiest of the nation, to run about town the next 
day, sayiQ* to every man I meet, ' Don't I look pale ?' " 

i if 





I in 


I I 

The last three days were devoted to visiting various mad- 
houses and lunatic asylums in London and its vicinity. In this 
tour of inspection we were accompanied by Dr. Spun, a distin- 
guished physician of Boston, and an old friend of Mr. Hope- 
well's. After leaving Bedlam, the Doctor, who was something 
of a humourist, said there was one on a larger scale which he 
wished to show us, but declined giving the name until we should 
arrive at it, as he wished to surprise us. 

Our curiosity was, of course, a good deal excited by some 
vague allusions he made to the condition of the inmates ; when 
he suddenly ordered the carriage to stop, and conducting us to 
the entrance of a court, said, " Here is a pile of buildings which 
the nation has devoted to the occupation of those whose minds 
having been engrossed during a series of years by politics, are 
supposed to labour under monomania. All these folks," he 
said, "imagine themselves to be govjrning the world, and the 
only cure that has been discovered is, to indulge them in their 
whim. They are permitted to form a course of policy, which is 
submitted to a body of persons chosen for the express purpose, 
who either approve or reject it, according as it appears more or 
less sane, and who furnish or withhold the means of carrying it 
out, as they see fit. 

" Each man has a department given to him, filled with subor- 
dinates, who, though not always the host qualified, are always in 
their right mind, and who do the worl ^ng part of the business ; 
the board of delegates, and of superior clerks, while they indulge 
them in their humour, as far as possible, endeavour to extract the 
mischievous part from every measure. They are, therefore, gene- 
rally harmless, and are allowed to go at large, and there have 
been successive generations of them for centuries. Sometimes 
they become dangerous, and then the board of delegates pass a 
vote of * want of confidence' in them, and they are all removed, 
and other imbeciles are substituted in their place, when the same 
course of treatment is pursued." 

" Is a cure often eifected ?" said Mr. Hopewell. 

" Not very often," said the Doctor ; " they are considered as 
the most difficult to cure of any insane people, politics having so 



much of excitement in them ; but now and then you hear of a 
man being perfectly restored to health, abandoning his ruling 
passion of politics, and returning to his family, and devoting him- 
self to rural or to literary pursuits, an ornament to society, or a 
patron to its institutions. Lately, the whole of the inmates 
became so dangerous, from some annoyances they received, that 
the whole country was alarmed, and every one of them was 
removed from the buildings. 

" In this Asylum it has been found that harsh treatment only 
aggravates the disease. Compliance with the whim of patients 
soothes and calms the mind, and diminishes the nervous excite- 
ment. Lord Glencoe, for instance, was here not long since, and 
imagined he was governing all the colonies. Constant indulgence 
very soon operated on his brain like a narcotic ; he slept nearly all 
the time, and when he awoke, his attendant, who affected to he 
first clerk, used to lay before him despatches, which he persuaded 
him he had written himself, and gravely asked him to sign them : 
he was very soon permitted to be freed from all restraint. Lord 
Palmerstaff imagined himself the admiration of all the women in 
town, he called himself Cupid, spent half thp day in bed, and 
the other half at his toilet ; wrote all night about Syria, Boun- 
dary line, and such matters ; or else walked up and down the 
room, conning over a speech for Parliament, which he said was 
to be delivered at the end of the session. Lord "Wallgrave fan- 
cied he was the devil, and that the Church and the Bench were 
conspiring against him, and punishing his dearest friends and sup- 
porters, so he was all day writing out pardons for felons, orders 
for opening jails, and retaining prisoners, or devising schemes for 
abolishing parsons, making one bishop do the work of two, and 
so on. Lord M " 

Here the words " Downing Street" caught my eye, as desig- 
nating the place we were in, which I need not say contains the 
government offices, and among others, the Colonial Office. "This," 
I said, " is very well for you. Dr. Spun, as an American, to sport 
as a joke, but it is dangerous ground for me, as a colonist and a 
loyal man, and therefore, if you ; lease, we will drop the allegory. 
If you apply your remark to all government offices, in all coun- 
tries, there may be some truth in it, for I believe all politicians to 
be more or less either so warped by party feeling, by selfishness, 
or prejudices, that their minds are not altogether truly balanced ; 
but I must protest against its restriction to the English govern- 
ment alone, as distinguished from others." 

" I know nothing about any of their offices," said Mr. Hope- 


i i 1^ 


! 1 









THE attache; 

well, ** but the Colonial office ; and that certainly requires re-con- 
struction. The interests of the colonies are too vast, too various, 
and too complicated, to be intrusted to any one man, however 
transcendant his ability, or persevering his industry, or extensive 
his information nAy be. Upon the sudden dissolution of a 
government a new coloiual minister is appointed : in most cases 
he has everything to learn, having never had his attention drawn 
to this branch of public business, during the previous part of his 
political life ; if this happens unfortunately to be the case, he 
never can acquire a thorough knowledge of his department, for 
during the wnole of his continuance in office, his attention is dis- 
tracted by various government measures of a general nature, 
which require the attention of the whole cabinet. The sole qua- 
lification that now exists for this high office is parliamentary 
influeuce, talent, and habits of business ; but none of them sepa- 
rately, nor all of them collectively, are sufficient. Personal and 
practical experience, for a series of years, of the people, and the 
affairs of the colonies, is absolutely indbpensable to a successful 
discharge of duty. 

" How many persons who have held this high office were either 
too indolent to work themselves, or too busy to attend to their 
duties, or too weak, or too wild in their theories, to be entrusted 
with such heavy responsibilities ? Many, when they acted for 
themselves, have acted wrong, from these causes ; and when they 
allowed others to act for them have raised a subordinate to be a 
head of the office whom no other persons in the kingdom or the 
colonies but themselves would have entrusted with such important 
matters : it is, therefore, a choice of evils ; colonists have either to 
lament a hasty or erroneous decision of a principal, or submit to 
the dictation of an upper clerk, whose talents, or whose acquire- 
ments are perhaps much below that of both contending parties, 
whose interests are to be bound by his decision." > i 

" How would you remedy this evil ?" I said, for it was a sub- 
ject in which I felt deeply interested, and one on which I knew 
he was the most competent man living to offer advice. 

" Every board," he said, " must have a head, and according 
to the structure of the machinery of this government I would 
still have a Secretary of State for the Colonies ; but instead of 
under secretaries, I would substitute a board of controul, or 
council, whichever board best suited, of which board he should be 
ex-offido President. It is thought necessary, even in a colony, 
where a man can both hear, and see, and judge for himself, to 
surround a governor with a council, how much mor« necessary is 




! j 

it to afford that assistance to a man who never saw a colony, 
and, until he accepted office, probably never heard of half of 
them, or if he has heard of them, is not quite i^ertain even as to 
their geographic situation. It is natural thai this obvious neces- 
sity should not have presented itself to a minister before : it is a 
restraint on power, and therefore not acceptable. He is not 
willing to trust his governors, and therefore gives them a council ; 
he is then unwilling to trust both, and reserves the right to 
approve or rejc.*: their acts in certain cases. He thinks them 
incompetent ; but who ever supposed he was competent ? If the 
resident governor, aided by the best and wisest heads in a colony, 
advised, checked, and sounded by local public opinion, is not 
equal to the task, how can a Lancashire or Devonshire Member 
of Parliament be ? Ask the weak or the vain, or the somnolent 
ones, whom I need not mention by name, and they will severally 
tell you it is the easiest thing in the world ; we understand the 
principles, and our under secretaries understand the details ; the 
only difficulty we have is in the ignorance, prejudice, and rascality 
of colonists themselves. Go and ask the present man, who is the 
most able, the most intelligent, the most laborious and eloquent 
one of them all, if there is any difficulty in the task to a person 
who sedulously strives to understand, and honestly endeavours to 
remedy colonial difficulties, and hear what he will tell you. 

" * How can you ask m^ that question. Sir ? "When did you 
ever call and find me absent from - iy post ? Read my despatches 
and you will see whether I work : study them and you will see 
whether I understand. I may not always judge rightly, but I en- 
deavour always to judge honestly. You inquire whether there 
is any difficulty in the task. Can you look in my face and ask 
that question ? Look at my care-worn brow, my hectic eye, my 
attenuated frame, my pallid face, and my premature age, and 
let them answer you. Sir, the labour is too great for any one 
man : the task is Herculean. Ambition may inspire, and fame 
may reward ; but it is death alone that weaves the laurel round 
the brow of a successful colonial minister.' 

"No, my good friend, it cannot be. No man can do the 
work. If he attempts it he must do \l badly; if he delegates 
it, it were better left undone : there should be a board of con- 
troul or council. This board should consist in part of ex- 
governors and colonial officers of English appointment, and in part 
of retired members of assembly or legislative councillors, or judges, 
or secretaries, or other similar functionaries, being native colonists. 
All of them should have served in pubUc life a certain number 



t I 


) 1 



of years, and all should be men who have stood high in public 
estimation, not as popular men (for that is no test), but for in- 
tegrity, ability, and knowledge of the world. With such a council, 
80 constituted, and so composed, you would never hear of a 
Oovemor-General dictating the despatches that were to be sent 
to him, as is generally reported in Canada, with or without foun- 
dation, of Poulett Thompson. One of the best governed countries 
in the world is India ; but India is not governed in Downing 
Street. Before responsible government can be introduced there, 
it must receive the approbation of practical men, conversant with 
the coimtry, deeply interested in its welfare, and perfectly com- 
petent to judge of its merits. India is safe from experiments ; 
I wish you were equally secure. While your local politicians 
distract the attention of the public with their personal squabbles, 
all these important matters are lost sight of, or rather are care- 
fully kept out of view. The only voice that is now heard is one 
that is raised to mislead, and not to inform ; to complain with- 
out truth, to demand without right, and to obstruct without*! 
principle. Yes, you want a board of controul. Were this once 
established, instead of having an office in Downing Street for 
the Secretary of State for the Colonies, which is all you now 
have, you would possess in reality what you now have nominally 
—*a Colonial Office.'" .,,.., v . 



.,» ■• ;• 

The manner and conduct of Colonel Slick has been so eccen- 
tric, that for several days past I have had some apprehensions 
that he was not altogether compos mentis. His spirits have been 
exceedingly unequal, being at times much exhilarated, and then 
subject to a corresponding depression. To day I asked his son 
if he knew what had brought him to England, but he was 
wholly at a loss, and evidently very anxious about him. "I 
don't know," he said, " what onder the sun fetched him here. 
I never heerd a word of it till about a week afore he arrived. I 
then got a letter from him, but you can't make head or tail of it ; 
here it is. . /.' ■..'(■ .■'f;.:!'^, , 

" * Dear Sam — Guess I'll come and see you for a spell ; but 
keep dark about it. I hante been much from home of late, and 



1 public 
for in- 
ar of a 
be sent 
lit foun- 
d there, 
int with 
:ly com- 
iments ; 
re care- 
d is one 
in with- 
his once 
reet for 
ou now 

ive been 
iad. then 
his son 
he was 
m. "I 
im here, 
ived. I 
ul of it ; 

bU; but 
ite, and 

a run at grass won't hurt me I reckon. Besides, I have an idea 
that somethin' may turn up to advantage. At any rate, it's 
worth looking after. All I want is proof, and then I guess I 
wouldn't call old Hickory, or Martin Van, no nor Captain Tyler 
nother, my cousin. My farm troubles me, for a farm and a wife 
soon run wild if left alone long. Barney Oxman has a consider- 
able of a notion for it, and Barney is a good farmer, and no 
mistake ; but I'm most afeerd he ain't the clear grit. Godward, 
he is very pious, but, manward, he is a little twistical. It was 
him that wrastled with the evil one at Musquash Creek, when he 
courted that long-legged heifer, Jerusha Eells. Fast bind, sure 
find, is my way; and if he gets it, in course he must find 
security. I have had the rheumatiz lately. Miss Hubbard 
Hobbs, she that was Nancy Waddle, told me two teaspoonsAil of 
brimstone, in a glass of gin, going to bed, for three nights, hand- 
Tunnin', was the onlyest thing in natur' for it. The old cata- 
mount was right for oncet in her life, as it cured me of the 
rheumatiz ; but it cured me of gin too. I don't think I could 
drink it any more for thinkin' of the horrid brimstone. It was 
a little the nastiest dose I ever took ; still it's worth knowin'. I 
like simples better nor doctors' means any day. Sal made a 
hundred dollars by her bees, and thrfee hundred dollars by her 
silk-worms, this year. It ain't so coarse that, is it ? But Sal is 
a good girl, too good for that cussed idle fellow, Jim Munroe. 
What a fool I was to cut him down that time he got hung by the 
leg in the moose- trap you sot for him, warn't I ? There is 
nothin' new here, except them almighty villains, the Loco Focos, 
have carried their man for governor ; but this you will see by the 
papers. The wonder is what I'm going to England for; but 
that is my business, and not theirn. I can squat low and say 
nothin' as well as any one. A crittur that goes blartin' out all 
he knows to every one ain't a man in no sense of the word. If 
you haven't nothin' above partikelar to do, I should like you to 
meet me at Liverpool about the 1.5th of next month that is to 
be, as I shall feel considerable scary when I first land, seein' that 
I never was to England afore, and never could cleverly find my 
way about a large town at no time. If all eventuates right, and 
turns out well, it will sartiuly be the making of the Slick familyj 
stock, lock, and barrel, that's a fact. I most forgot to tell you 
about old Varginy, sister of your old Clay. I depend my life on 
that mare. You can't ditto her nowhere. There actilly ain't a 
beast fit to be named on the same day with her in all this county. 
Well, Varginy got a most monstrous fit of the botts. If she 


THE attachk; 

didn't stamp and bite her sides, and sweat all over like Statiee, 
it*8 a pity. She went most ravin' distracted mad with pain, and 
I actilly thought Fd a-lost her, she was so bad. Barney Ox- 
tnan was here at the time, and sais he, I'll cure her. Colonel, if 

Jou will leave it to me. Well, sais I — Do wh»»t you please, only 
wish you'd shoot the poor critturto put her out of pain, fori 
believe her latter eend has come, that's a fact. Well, what does 
he do, but goes and gets half a pint of hardwood ashes and pours 
on to it a pint of vinegar, jopens Varginy's mouth, holds on to 
her tongue*, and puts the nose of the bottle in ; and I hope I 
may never live another blessed minit, if it didn't shoot itself 
right off down her throat. Talk of a beer bottle bustin' it's 
cork, and walkin' out quick stick, why it ain't the smallest part 
of a circumstance to it. 

" • It cured her. If it warn't an SLCtive dose, then physic ain't 
medecine, that's all. It made the botts lose their hold in no 
time. It was a wonder to behold. I believe it wouldn't be a 
bad thing for a man in the cholera, for that ain't a bit wuss than' 
botts, and nothin' in natur' can stand that dose — I ain't sure it 
wouldn't bust a byler. If I had my way, I'd physic them 
'cussed Loco Focos with it ; it would drive the devil out of them, 
as drownin' did out of the swine that was possessed. I raised 
my turnips last year in my corn hills at second hoeing ; it sr.ved 
labour, land, and time, and was all clear gain : it warn't a bad 
notion, was it ? The Squash Bank has failed. I was wide awake 
for them ; I knowed it would, so I drawed out all I had there, 
and kept the balance agin me. I can buy their paper ten cents 
to the dollar to pay with. I hope you have nothin' in the con- 
sarn. I will tell you all other news when we meet. Give my 
respects to Giaeral Wellington, Victoria Queen, Mr. Everett, and 
all inquiring friends. 

" * Your affectionate Father, m: 

^ " * S. Slick, Lieut.-Col.' *' 

"There it is," said Mr. Slick. " He has got some crotchet or 
another in his head, but what the Lord only knows. To-day, 
seein' he was considerable up in the stirrups, I axed him plain 
what it actilly was that fetched him here. He turned right 
round fierce on me, and eyein' me all over, scorny like, he said, 
* The Great Western, Sam, a tight good vessel, Sam — it was that 
fetched me over ; and now you have got your answer, let me give 
you a piece of advice ; — Ax me no questions, and I'll tell you no 
lies.' And he put on his hat, and walked out of the room." ' ' 


vou no 



" Old men/* I said, *' love to be mysterious. He probably 
came over to see you, to enjoy the spectacle of his son moving in 
a society to which he never could have aspired in his most 
yisionary and castle-building days. To conceal this natural 
feeling, ne affects a secret. Depend upon it, it is merely to pique 
your curiosity." 

" It may be so," said Mr. Slick, shaking his head, incredu- 
lously ; <* it may be so, but he ain't a man to pretend nothin* is 

In order to change the conversation, which was too personal 
to be agreeable, I asked him what that story of wrastling with 
the evil one was, to which his father hinted in his letter. 

" Oh, wrastling with the evil one," says he, " it ain't a bad 
story that ; didn't I ever tell you that frolic of * Barney Oxman 
and the devil V 

"Well, there lived an old woman some years ago at Mus- 
quash Greek, in South Carolina, that had a large fortin', and an 
only darter. She was a widder, a miser and a dunkei. She 
was very good, and very cross, as many righteous folks are, and 
had a loose tongue and a tight puss of her own. All the men 
that looked at her darter she thought had an eye to her money, 
and she warn't far out o' the way nother. for it seems as if beauty 
and money was too much to go together in a general way. Rich 
galls and xiandsome galls are seldom good for nothin' else but 
their cash or their looks. Fears and peaches ain't often found 
on the same tree, I tell you. She lived all alone a'most, with 
nobody but her darter and her in the house, and some old nigger 
slaves, in a hut near hand ; and she seed no company she could 
help. The only place they went to, in a gineral way, was 
meetin', and Jerusha never missed that, for it was the only chance 
she had sometimes to get out alone. 

" Barney had a most beautiful voice, and always went there 
too, to sing along with the galls ; and Barney, hearin' of the 
fortin of Miss Eells, made up to her as fierce as possible, and 
sung so sweet, and talked so sweet, and kissed so sweet, that he 
soon stood number one with the heiress. But then he didn't 
often get a chance to walk home with her, and when he did, she 
darsn't let him come in for fear of the old woman : but Barney 
warn't to be put off that way long. When a gall is in one pas- 
tur','and a lover in another, it's a high fence they can't get over, 
that*s a fact. 

*• • Tell you what,' sais Barney, * sit up alone in the keepin' 
room, Uushy dear, arter old mother has gone to bed, put out the 

t i 


THE attache; 

light, and I'll slide down on the rope from the trap-door on the 
roof. Tell her you are exercised in your mind, and want to 
meditate alone, as the words you have heard thia day have 
reached your heart.' vi.?. w> 

" Jerusha was frightened to death a'most, but what won't a 
woman do when a lover is in the way. So that very night she 
told the old woman she was exercised in her mind, and would 
wrastle with the spirit. : b . ,••( rr. f. 

" * Do, dear,' says her mother, * and you won't think of the 
vanities of dress, and idle company no more. You see how I 
have given them all up since I made profession, and never so 
much as speak of them now, no, nor even thinks of 'em.' 

"Strange, Squire, ain't it! But it's much easier to cheat 
ourselves than cheat the devil. That old hag was too stingy to 
buy dress, but persuaded herself it was bein' too good to wear it. 

" Well, the house was a flat-roofed house, and had a trap- 
door in the ceilin', over the keepin' room, and there was a crane 
on the roof, with a rope to it» to pull up things to spread out to 
dry there. As soon as ^iic lights were all out, and Barney 
thought the old woman was asleep, he crawls up on the house, 
opens the trap -door, and lets himself down by the rope, and ke 
and Jerusha sat down into the hearth in the chimney comer 
courtin', or as they call it in them diggins * sniffin' ashes.' When 
daylight began to show, he went up the rope hand over hand, 
hauled it up arter him, closed-to the trap-door, and made himself 
scarce. Well, all this went on as slick as could be for awhile, 
but the old woman seed that her daughter looked pale, and as if 
she iiadn't had sleep enough, and there was no gettin' of her up 
in the mornin' ; and when she did she was yawkin' and gapin', 
and so dull she hadn't a word to say. 

" She got very uneasy about it at last, and used to get up in 
the night sometimes and call her darter, and make her go off to 
bed, and oncet or twice came plaguy near catching of them. So 
what does Barney do, but takes two niggers with him when he 
goes arter that, and leaves them on the roof, and fastens a large 
basket to the rope, and tells them if they feel the rope pulled 
to hoist away for dear life, but not to speak a word for the world. 
Well, one night the old woman came to the door as usual, and 
sais, * Jerusha,' sais she, * what on airth ails you, to make you sit 
up all night that way ; do come to bed that's a dear.' * Pre- 
sently, marm/ sais she, * I am wrastling with the evil one, now ; 
I'll come presently.* ' Dear, dear,' sais she, * you have wrastled 
long enough with him to have throwed him by this time. If you 



> on the 
^ant to 
ly have 

won't a 
ight she 
i would 

i of the 

> how I 
lever so 

;o cheat 
itingy to 
wear it. 
a trap- 
B a crane 
d out to 
. Barney 
le house, 
I, and ke 
jy comer 
' When 
er hand, 
e himself 
r awhile, 
and as if 
f her up 
d gapin', 

jet up in 
go off to 
em. So 
when he 

a large 
»e pulled 
le world, 
sual, and 

eyou sit 
ne, now ; 

If you 

can't throw him now, give it up, or he may throw you.' Pre- 
sently, marm,' sais her darter. ' It's always the same tune,* sais 
her mother, going off grumbling ; — ' it's always presently, pre- 
sently ; — what has got into the gall to act so. Oh, dear ! what a 
pertracted time she has on it. She has been sorely exercised, 
poor girl.' 

*' As soon as she had gone, Barney larfed so he had to put his 
arm round her waist to steady him on the bench, in a way that 
didn't look onlike rompin', and when he went to whisper he larfed 
so he did nothin' but touch her cheek with his lips, in a way 
that looked plaguily like kissing, and felt like it too, and she 
pulled to get away, and they had a most rog'lar wrastle as they 
sat on the bench, when as luck would have it, over went the 
bench, and down went both on 'em on the floor with an awful 
smash, and in bounced the old woman — ' Which is uppermost ? 
sais she ; — ' Have you throw'd Satan, or has Satan throw'd you ? 
Speak, Rushy ; speak dear; who's throw'd?* ' I have throw'd 
him * sais her darter ; , and I hope I have broke his neck, he 
acted so.' * Come to bed, then,* sais she, ' darling, and be thank- 
ful ; say a prayer backward, and' — ^jist then the old woman was 
seized round the waist, hoisted through the trap-door to the roo^ 
and from there to the top of the crane, where the basket stopped, 
and the first thing she know'd she was away up ever so far in ■ 
the air, swingin' in a large basket, and no soul near her. 

" Barney and his niggers cut stick double quick, crept into 
the bushes, and went all round to the road in front of the house, 
just as day was breakin'. The old woman was then singin' out 
for dear life, kickin', and squealin*, and cryin*, and prayin' all in 
one, properly frightened. Down runs Barney as hard as he 
could clip, lookin' as innocent as if he'd never heerd nothin' of 
it, and pertendin' to be horrid frightened, offers his services, 
climbs up, releases the old woman, and gets blessed and thanked, 
and thanked and blessed till he was tired of it. ' Oh I' says the 
old woman, * Mr. Oxman, the moment Jerusha throw'd the evil 
one, the house shook like an airthquake, and as I entered the 
room he seized me, put me into a basket, and flew off with me. 
Oh, I shall never forget his fiery eye-balls, and the horrid smell 
of brimstone he had !' 

" * Had he a cloven foot, and a long tail ?' sais Barney. * I 
couldn't see in the dark,' sais she, 'but his claws were awful 
sharp ; oh, how they dug into my ribs 1 it e'en a'most took the 
flesh off — oh, dear ! Lord have mercy on us ! I hope he is laid 
in the Red Sea, now.' * Tell you what it ia aunty,' sais Barney, 



THE attache; 

* that's an awful stoiy, keep it secret for your life ; folks might 
say the house was hamted — that you was possessed, and that 
Jerushy was in league with the evil one. Don't so much as lisp 
a syllable of it to a livin' sinner breathin' ; keep the secret and I 
will help you.' 

" The hint took, the old woman had no wish to be burnt or 
drown'd for a witch, and the moment a feller has a woman's secret 
he is that woman's master. He was invited there, stayed there, 
and married there ; but the old woman never know'd who *the 
evil one' was, and always thought till her dyin' day it was old 
Scratch himself. Arter her death they didn't keep it secret no 
longer ; and many a good laugh has there been at the story of 
Barney Oxman and the Devil." 

I -ii 






During the last week I went into Gloucestershire, for the 
purpose of visiting an old and much valued friend, who resides 
near Cirencester. In the car there were two gentlemen, both of 
whom were strangers to me, but we soon entered into conversa- 
tion. One of them, upon ascertaining where I was from, made 
many anxious inquiries as to the probability of the Repudiating 
States ever repaying the money that had been lent to them by 
this country. He said he had been a great sufferer himself, but 
what he regretted much more than his own loss was, that he had 
been instrumental in inducing several of his friends to invest 
largely in that sort of stock. I told him I was unable to answer 
the question, though I thought the prospect rather gloomy ; 
that if, however, he was desirous of procuring accurate informa- 
tion, I could easily obtain it for him, as the celebrated Mr. Slick, 
and a very distinguished American clergyman, were now in 
London, to whom I would apply on the subject, 

" Mr. Slick !" he said, with much surprise, "is there, then, 
really such a person as Sam Slick ? I always thought it a fictitious 
character, although the man is drawn so natui illy, I have never 
been able to divest myself of some doubts as to his reality." 

" There is," I said, " such a man as Mr. Slicky and such a man 
as Mr. Hopewell, although those are not their real names ; I 
know the personR well. The author has drawn them from life. 
Most of the anecdotes in those books called ' The Clockmaker,' 




1 that 

IS lisp 

and I 

mt or 
f secret 
* the 
as old 
iret no 
tory of 

for the 
both of 
1, made 
hem by 
jelf, but 

he had 
) invest 
I answer 
;loomy ; 
r. Slick, 

now in 

e, then, 

and * Attache,' are real ones. The travelling parts of them are 
fictitious, and introduced merely as threads to string the conver- 
sations on, while the reasoning and humorous parts are only such 
as both those persons are daily in the habit of uttering, or would 
have uttered if the topics were started in their presence. Both 
are real characters : both have sat for their likeness, and those 
who know the originals as I do, are struck with the fidelity of 
the portraits. 

"I have often been asked the question before," I said, '*if 
there really was such a man as 'Sam Slick,' and the author 
assures me that that circumstance, which has frequently occurred 
to him also, he considers the greatest compliment that can be 
paid to his work, and that it is one of the reasons why there 
have been so many continuations of it." 

He then asked my opinion as to the ballot ; and I ridiculed it 
in no measured terms, as every man of experience does on both 
sides of the water ; expressed a hope that it might never be in- 
troduced into England, to the character and feelings of whose 
inhabitants it was so much opposed ; and bestowed on its abet- 
tors in this country some very strong epithets, denoting my 
contempt, both for their principles and their understanding. 

At Bath he left us, and when the train proceeded, the other 
gentleman asked me if I knew who he was with whom I had 
been conversing, and on my replying in the negative, he said he 
took it for granted I did not, or I would have been more guarded 
in my language, and that he was delighted I had not known 
him, otherwise he would hiive lost a lesson which he hoped would 
do him good. 

"That man. Sir," said he, "is one of the great advocates of 
the ballot here ; and with the leaders of the party, has invested 
large sums of money in these State stocks of which he was in- 
quiring. They thought their money must be safe in a country 
that had vote by ballot — for that they conceived to be a remedy 
for all evils. In my opinion, vote by ballot, or rather universal 
suffrage, another of his favourite hobbies, is one of the reasons 
why they have lost it. He is one of those persons to whom you 
are indebted for the Republicanism lately introduced into your 
Colonial constitutions. 

" At the time Lord Durham visited Canada, the United States 
were swarming with labourers, cutting canals, constructing rail- 
ways, opening coal mines, building towns, and forming roads. 
In everything was life and motion ; for English capital was flow- 
ing rapidly thither under one delusion or another for investment, 

Y 2 



THE attache; 

and had given an unnatural stimulus to every branch of industry, 
and every scheme of speculation : while in Canada, which was m 
a healthy and sound condition, all these things were in no greater 
progress than the ordinary wants of the country required^ or the 
ordinary means of the people could afford. 

" The moment these visionary and insane reformers saw this 
contrast, instead of deploring, as all good and sensible men did, 
a delirious excitement that could not but soon exhaust itself, and 
produce a long period of inaiution and weakness, they seized 
upon it as a proof of their favourite scheme. * Behold,' they 
said, * the difference between a country that has universal suffrage 
and vote by ballot, responsible government and annual elections, 
and a British colony with a cumbrous English constitution. One 
is all life, the other all torpor. One enjoys a rapid circulation 
that reaches to every extremity, the other suffers under a feeble 
pulsation barely sufficient to support life. Read in this a lesson on 
free institutions, and doubt who can.' 

** Having talked this nonsense for a long time, they began at ' 
last, like all credulous and weak people, to believe it themselves, 
and invested their money, for which they had no other but their 
favourite security, vote by ballot. How much is the security 
worth ? — It is worth a thousand arguments, and will be compre- 
hended, even by those who cannot appreciate the wit or feel the 
force of the reasoning of Sydney Smith. But I believe we part 
at this station. Good bye ! Sir. I am happy to have had the 
pleasure of making your acquaintance." 

On my return to London, I took occasion one evening, when 
Mr. Slick and Mr. Hopewell were present, to relate this anec- 
dote ; and, turning to the former, asked him what prospect he 
thought there was of these '* repudiated debts" being paid. To 
my surprise he did not answer, and I at once perceived he was in 
a " brown study." Though he had not heard what I said, how- 
ever, he found there was a cessation of talk, and turning to me 
with an absent air, and twirling his j?oustache between his fore- 
finger and thumb, he said, " Can you tell me what a (jager) 
yaw-g-her is ?" 

I said, '* it is a v^erman word, and signifies a hunter. In the 
revolutionary war there was a regiment called Jagers." 

'*Ah," said he, "it's a beautiful dress they wear — very be- 
coming — very rich. Me and the socdolager dined with one o' 
the royal dukes lately, and he had several in attendance as ser- 
vants — devilish handsome fellows they are too — I'me sorry I 
made that mistake} though — how much they look like officers 




was in 


or the 

iw this 
en did, 
s\f, and 
1/ they 
a. One 
A feeble 
}S8on on 

)egan at ' 
(ut their 

feel the 
we part 

lad the 

g, when 
lis anec- 
spect he 
id. To 
was in 
id, how- 
g to me 
lis fore- 

In the 

very he- 
one o' 
m as ser- 
sorry I 

and gentlemen — cussed awkward that em-yaugher — eh ! — I don't 
know whether it's worth larnin' arter all — hem !" and was again 

Mr. Hopewell looked at him with great concern, drew a long 
sigh, and shook his head, as if much distressed at his behaviour. 

I renewed my inquiry, and put the same question to the 

"Squire," he said, mournfully, "that is a painful subject 
either to contemplate or to talk upon. What they ought to do 
as honest men, there can be no doubt ; what they will do is less 
certain. I have read the correspondence between one of our 
citizens and Sydney Smith. Those letters of Mr. Smith, or 
rather Smith I should say — for he is too celebrated a man for 
the appellation of " Mr." — will do more good in America than 
a fleet, or an ambassador, or even reprisals. We cannot stand 
ridicule — we are sensitively alive to European opinion, and these 
letters admit of but one answer — and that is, payment. An Ame- 
rican is wrong in thinking of resorting to the pen. Repudiation 
cannot be justified— no, not evpin palliated. It is not insolvency, 
or misfortune, or temporary ei:' ir^assment, that is pleaded — it 
is a refusal to pay, and a refu!" u pay a just debt, in public or 
private life, is — mince it as yo., .»ii — dishonest. If the aged and 
mfirm, the widow and the orphan, recover their just debts, and 
are restored once more to the comfort they have lost, they must 
never forget they are indebted to Sydney Smith for it. 

" It is the first plunge that shocks the nerves. Men who have 
so little honour as to repudiate a debt, have altogether too little 
to retract their words and be honest. But if by repudiating, they 
lose more than the amount they withhold, a sorchd motive may 
induce them to do that which a sense of right is unable to e£Pect. 
Smith has put those States on their trial in Europe. If they do 
not pay, their credit and their character are gone for ever. If 
they do pay, but not till then, I will furnish them with tL3 only 
extenuation their conduct is susceptible of." 

"And pray what is that ?" I said. 

He replied, " I would reason this way ; it is unfair to condemn 
the American people, as a nation, for the acts of a few States, 
or to punish a whole country for the fraudulent conduct of a part 
of the people. Every honest and right-minded man in our 
country deplores and condemns this act, as much as every person 
of the same description does in Europe. When we speak of Ame- 
rican or English honour, we speak of the same thing ; but when 




we speak of the honour of the American people, and of the Eng- 
lish people, we speak of two different things, because the word 
people is not used in the same sense ; in one case it is under- 
stood in a restricted form, and in the other in its most extensive 
signification. When we speak of the honour of an European, 
we don't mean the honour of a chimney-sweeper, or street-scraper, 
or cabman, or coal-heaver, or hodman, or such persons ; but of 
those that are responsible for the acts of the people as a govern- 
ment. When we speak of the honour of an American citizen, 
we speak of every individual, high or low, rich or poor, because, 
as all have the franchise, all are responsible for public acts. 
Take the same class with us that the word is applied to in Eng- 
land, and if the honour of that class is not equal to its cor- 
responding one in Great Britain, I think I may say it will at 
least bear a very favourable comparison with it. The question 
of payment or non-payment, in the repudiating States has been 
put to every male in those States over the age of twenty-one 
years, and repudiation has been the result. 

" Put the question of the paymerit of the national debt to every 
adult in Great Britain, and let reformers inflame their minds and 
excite their cupidity, as they always do on such occasions, and 
what would be the result ? I fear the holders of the old Three 
per Cents would find repudiation a word as well understood in 
Europe as it is in America. The almost universal suffrage in 
Canada is the cause of the ungenerous, ungrateful, and insatiable 
conduct of their reformers : all good men there acknowledge their 
degradation, and deplore it : but, alas ! they cannot help it. 
Mankind are much the same everywhere ; the masses are alike 
at least, ignorant, prejudiced, needy, and not over scrupulous. 
It is our misfortune then, rather than our fault ; you will ob- 
serve I am not justifying repudiation, far from it ; but let us 
know where the fault lies, before we inflict censure — // lies in our 
Institutions and not in our people j it is worth all they have lost in 
England to know this, it is a valuable political lesson. Let 
them beware how they extend their franchise, or increase the 
democratic privileges. 

" The Reform Bill has lowered the character of the House of 
Commons in exact proportion as it has opened it to the repre- 
sentatives of the lower orders. Another Reform Bill will lower 
the character of the people ; it will then only require universal 
suffrage, and vote by ballot, to precipitate both the altar and the 
throne into the cold and bottomless abyss of democracy, and in 



lie £ng- 
le word 
. under- 
i but of 
lie acts, 
in £ng- 
its cor- 
; will at 
bas been 

to every ^ 
inds and 
ons, and 
d Three 
stood in 
ffrage in 
ge their 
lelp it. 
ire alike 
will ob- 
t let us 
es in our 
e lost in 


;ase the 

louse of 
11 lower 
and the 
and in 

the froth and worthless scum that will float on the surface will 
be seen among the fragments of their institutions, 'Enghsh 
repudiation.' " 

* Give me your hand. Minister,'* said Mr. Slick : " Oh, you 
did that beautiful ! Heavens and airth ! — " 

" Stop, Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, "Swear not by Heaven, for 
it is his throne, nor by the earth, for it is his footstool." 

" "Well, then, lawful heart ! land of Goshen 1 airth and seas ! 
or, oh Solomon ! take any one that will suit you ; I wish you 
would lay down preachin' and take to politics, as Everitt did." 

" I could not do it," he repUed, " if I would ; and I would not 
do it if I could." 

"Well, I wish you had never taken up the trade of 

" Trade, Sam ! do you call it a trade ?" 

"Well, art." 

"Do you call it an art?" 

" Well, call it what you Uke, I wish you had never been bred a 

" I have no such wish ; I do not, at the close of my life, desire 
to exclaim with Wolsey, * Had I served my God with half the 
zeal I have served my king, he would not now have deserted me 
in my old age.' " 

" You hante got a king, and nobody sarves a president, for he 
is nothin' but one of us, so you needn't be skeered, but I do wish 
you'd a-taken to politics. Good gracious, why can't Stephenson 
or Everitt talk as you do ; why don't they put the nail in the 
right place, and strike it right strait on the head ? The way you 
put that repudiation is jist the identical thing. Bowin' gallus 
polite, and sayin' — * Debt is all right, you ought to have it — a 
high tone of feelin' — very sorry — force of circumstances — political 
institutions — universal suiFrage — happy country, England — 
national honour all in my eye — good bye !' How much better 
that is, than justifyin', or buUyin' or sayin' they are just as bad 
themselves, and only make matters wus ; I call that now true 

" If you call that true policy, I am sorry for you," he replied ; 
"because it is evident you are ignorant of a very important 

"What is that. Minister?" 

" * That honesty is always the best policy.' Had this great moral 
lesson been more universally known, you never would have heard 
of ' Repudiation,' " 



THE attache; 





THB BACKLOG, OB COOLNESS, j, ; j;. /v'-i^lK'li'!:? 

As we sat chatting together late last night, the danger of a 
fire at sea was talked of, the loss of the ' Kent' Indiaman, and 
the remarkable coolness of Colonel M'Grigor on that occasion 
was discussed, and Tarious anecdotes related of calmness, presence 
of mind, and coolness, under every possible form of peril. 

'* There is a good deal of embellishment in all these stories," 
said Mr Slick. '* There is always a fact to build a story on, or 
a peg to hang it on, and this makes it probable ; so that the 
story and its fictions get so mixed up, you can't tell at last what 
is truth and what is fancy. A good story is never spiled in the 
tellin', except by a crittur that don't know how to tell it. Battles, 
shipwrecks, hignway robberies, blowed-up steamers, vessels a fire, ^ 
and so on, lay a foundation as facts. Some people are saved — ' 
that's another fact to build on ; -some captain, or passenger, or 
woman hante fainted, and that's enough to make a grand affair 
of it. You can't hardly believe none of them, that's the truth. 
Now, I'll tell you a story that happen'd in a farm-house near to 
father's to Slickville, jist a common scene of common hfe, and no 
romance about it, that does jist go for to show what I call cool- 
ness : 

** Our nearest neighbour was Squire Peleg Sanford ; well, 
the old Squire and all his family was all of them the most awful 
passionate folks that ever lived, when they chose, and then they 
could keep in their temper, and be as cool at other times as 
cucumbers. One night, old uncle Peleg, as he was called, told 
his son Gucom, a boy of fourteen years old, to go and bring in a 
backlog for the fire. A backlog, you know. Squire, in a wood 
fire, is always the biggest stick that one can find or carry. It 
takes a stout junk of a boy to lift one. 

" Well, as soon as Gucom goes to fetch the log, the old Squire 
drags forward the coals, and fixes the fire so as to leave a bed for 
it, and stands by ready to fit it into its place. Presently in comes 
Gucom Yfith a little cat stick, no bigger than his leg, and t)irows 
it on. Uncle Peleg got so mad, he never said a word hut just 
seized his ridin' whip, and gave him a'most an awful r yn\ 
He tanned his hide properly for him, you may depend. '(ow,* 
said he, * go. Sir, and bring in a proper backlog.' 

» 1! . 





" Gucom ^as clear grit as well as the old man, for he was a 
chip of the old hlock, and no mistake ; so out he goes without so 
much as sayiu' a word, but instead of goin' to the wood pile, he 
walks off altogether, and staid away eight years, till he was one- 
and-twenty, and his own master. Well, as soon as he was a man 
grown, and lawfully on his own book, he took it into his head 
one day heM go to home and see his old father and mother agin, 
and show them he was alive and kickin', for they didn't know 
whether he was dead or not, never havin' heard of or f-om ^^m one 
blessed word all that time. When he arrived to t ^^ house, 
daylight was down, and lights lit, and as he passed the .. epiu'- 
room winder, he looked in, and there was old Squire sittin' in the 
same chair he was eight years afore, when he ordered in the back- 
log, and gave him such an onmarciful whippin'. So what does 
Gucom do, but stops at the wood pile, and picks up a most huga- 
ceous log (for he had grow'd to be a' most a thunderin' big feller 
then), and openin' the door, he marches in and lays it down on 
the hearth, and then lookin' up, sais he, ' Father, I've brought 
you in the backlog.' 

** Uncle Peleg was struck up all of a heap ; he couldn't believe 
his eyes, that that great six>footer was the boy he had cow-hided, 
and he couldn't believe his ears when he heard him call him 
father ; a man from the grave wouldn't have surprised him more 
— he was quite onfakilized, and be-dumbed for a minute. But 
he came too right off, and was iced down to freezin' point in no 

" * What did you say ?' sais he. 
: " * That I have brought you in the backlog. Sir, you sent me 
out for.' * 

" * Well, then, you've been a d 'd long time a-fetchin' it,* 

sais he ; * that's all I can say. Draw the coals forrard, put it on, 
and then go to bed.' 

i " Now, that's a fact. Squire ; I know'd the parties myself— 
and that's what / do call coolness — and no mistake !" 

,1 ■- -. - 

;/? r.- 



To-day, as we passed St, James's church, we found the streets 
in the neighbourhood almost obstructed by an immense concourse 


THE attache; 

of fashionable carriages. "Ah!" said Mr. Slick, "here is a 


splice in high life to-day. I wish to goodness I could 
in and see the gall. Them nobility women are so horrid hansum, 
they take the shine off all creation a' most. I'll bet a goose and 
trimmins she looks like an angel, poor thing ! I'd hke to see her, 
and somehow I wouldn't like to see her, nother. I like to look 
at beauty always, my heart yams towards it ; and I do lovi 
women, the dear critturs, that's a fact. There is no musick to 
my ear like the rustlin' of petticoats ; but then I pity one o' 
these high bred galls, that's made a show of that way, and decked 
out in first chop style, for all the world to stare at afore she is 
offered up as a sacrifice to gild some old coronet with her money, 
or enlarge some landed estate by addin' her'n on to it. (^'^Half the 
the time it ain't the joinin' of two hearts, but the joinin' of two 
pusses, and a wife is chose like a boss, not for her looks, but for 
what she will fetch/ It's the greatest wonder in the world them 
kind o' marriages turn out as well as they do, all thin's considered. . 
I can't account for it no way but one, and that is, that love 
that grows up slow will last longer than love that's bom full 
grown. The fust is love, the last is passion. Fashion mles all 

"These Londoners are about as consaited folks of their own 
ways as you'll find onder the sun a'most. They are always 
a-jawin' about good taste, and bad taste, and correct taste, and all 
that sort o' thin'. Fellers that eat and drink so like the devil as 
they do, it's no wonder that word ' taste' is for everlastin' in their 
mouth. Now, to my mind, atween you and me and the post, for 
I darsn't say so here to company, they'd stare so if I did, but 
atween you and me, I don't think leadin' a gall out to a church 
chock full of company, to be stared at, like a prize ox, by all the 
young bucks and the old does about town, to criticise, satirize, 
and jokerise on, or make prophecies on, a-pityin' the poor feller 
that's caught such an almighty tartar, or a-feelin' for the poor 
gall that's got such an awful dissipated feller ; or rakin' up old 
stories to new-frame 'em as pictures to amuse folks with, (for 
envy of a good match always gets to pityin' 'em, as if it liked 
'em, and was sorry for 'em,) and then to lead her off to a dejuney 
a la fussier ; to hear her health drunk in wine, and to hear a 
whisper atween a man-woman and a woman-man, not intended to 
be heerd, except on purpose ; and then posted off to some old 
mansion or another in the country ; and all along the road to be 
the standin* joke of post-boys, footmen, and ladies' maids, and all 
them kind o' cattle ; and then to be yoked together alone with 



re IS a 
scrou^ : 
ose and 
see her, 
to look 
3o lovi 
sick to 
r one o' 

'. she is 
lalf the 

of two 
but for 
Id them 
sidered. r 
lat love' 
orn full 
ules all 

leir own 


and all 
devil as 
in their 
)ost, for 
iid, but 


all the 
)r feller 
le poor 

up old 
ith, (for 
it liked 

hear a 
nded to 
»me old 
id to be 

and all 
ne with 

her lover in that horrid large, lonely, dismal house, shut up by 
rain all the time, and imprisoned long enough to git shockiu' 
tired of each other ; and then to read her fate on the wall in por- 
traits of a long line of ancestral brides, who came there bloomin', 
and gay, and young like her, and in a little while grew fat and 
old, or skinny and thin, or deaf, or blind, (women never get 
dumb,) and who sickened and pined and died, and went the way 
of all flesh ; and she shudders all over, when she thinks in a few 
years some other bride will look at her pictur', and say, ' What a 
queer looking woman that is ! how unbecomin' her hair is done 
up !' and then, pi'ntin' to her bustle, say to her bridesmaid in a 
whisper, with a scorny look, * Do you suppose that mountain was 
a hustle, or was she a Hottentot Venus, grandpa' married ?' and 
bridesmaid will say, ' Dreadful looking woman ! and she squints 
too, I think ;' then to come back to town to run into t'other 
extreme, and never to be together agin, but always in company, 
havin' a great horror of that long, lone, tiresome honey-moon 
month in the country ; — all this ain't to my mind, now, jist the 
best tastf ' the world nother. I don't know what you may 
think, bui that's my humble opinion, now that's a fact. We 
make everlastin' short work of it sometimes. It reminds me of 
old uncle Peleg I was a-telUn* you of last night, who acted so cool 
about the backlog. He was a magistrate to Slickville, was Squire 
Peleg ; and by our law Justices of the Peace can splice folks as 
well as Ministers can. So, one day Slocum Outhouse called there 
to the Squire's with Deliverance Cook. They was well acquainted 
with the Squire, for they was neighbours of his, but they was 
awful afeerd of him, he was such a crotchical, snappish, peevish, 
odd, old feller. So after they sot down in the room, old Peleg 
sais, 'You must excuse my talkin' to-day,, friend Outhouse, for,' 
sais he, * I'm so almighty busy a-writin' ; but the women-folks 
will be in bime bye ; the'r jist gone to meetin'.* * Well,' sais Slo- 
cum, * we won't detain you a minit. Squire ; me and Deliverance 
come to make declaration of marriage, and have it registered.' 
' Oh ! goin' to be married,' sais he ; * eh ? that's right, marry in 
haste and repent at leisure. Very fond of each other now ; 
quarrel like the devil by and bye. Hem ! what cussed fools some 
folks is ;' and he never sais another word, but wrote and wrote 
on, and never looked up, and there they sot and sot, Slocum and 
poor Deliverance, a-lookin' like a pair of fools ; they know'd they 
couldn't move him to go one inch faster than he chose, and that 
he would have his own way at any rate ; so they looked at each 
other and shook their heads, and then looked down and played 



THE attache; 

with their thumbs, and then they scratched their pates and put 
one leg over t*other, and then shifted it back agin, and then they 
looked out o' the winder, and counted all the poles in the fence, 
and all the hens in the yard, and watched a man a-ploughin' in a 
field, goin' first up and then down the ridge; then Slocum 
coughed, and then Deliverance coughed, so as to attract old 
Squire's attention, and make him 'tend to their business ; but no, 
nothin' would do : he wrote, and he wrote, and he wrote, and he 
never stopped, nor looked up, nor looked round, nor said a word. 
Then Deliverance looked over at the Squire, made faces, and 
nodded and motioned to Outhouse to go to him, but he frowned 
and shook his head, as much as to say, I darsn't do it, dear, I 
wish you would. 

" At last she got narvous, and began to cry out of clear sheer 
spite, for she was good stuff, rael steel, put an edge on a knife 
a most ; and that got Slocum's dander up, — so he ups off of his 
seat, and spunks up to the old Squire, and sais he, * Squire, telL 
you what, we came here to get married ; if you are a-gom' for to 
do the job well and good, if you ain't say so, and we will go to 
some one else.' * What job,' sais old Peleg, a-lookin' up as inno- 
cent as you please. • Why, marry us,' sais Slocum. * Marry 
you I' sais he, ' why d — n you, you was married an hour and 
a-half ago, man. What are you a-talkin' about ? I thought you 
was a-goin' to spend the night here, or else had repented of your 
bargain ;* and he sot back in his chair and larfed ready to kill 
himself. *What the devil have you been waitin' for all this 
time ?' sais he ; * don't you know that makin' declaration, as you 
did, is all that's required ? — ^but come, let's take a glass of grog. 
Here's to your good health, Mr. Slocum, or Slow-go, as you ought 
to be called, and the same to you. Deliverance. What a nice 
name you've got, too, for a bride ;' and he larfed agin till they 
both joined in it, and larfed, too, like anythin' ; for larfin' is 
catchin', you can't help it sometimes, even suppose you are vexed. 

" * Yes,' sais he, ' long life and as much happiness to you both 
as you can cleverly digest ;' and then he shook hands with the 
bride, and whispered to her, and she coloured up, and looked 
horrid pleased, and sais, * Now, Squire, ^positively, you ought to 
be ashamed, that's a fact.* 

" Now," said Mr. Slick, " a feller that ain't a fool, like Slocum, 
and don't know when he is married, can get the knot tied with- 
out fuss or loss of time with us, can't he ? — Yes, I don't like a 
show affair like this. To my mind, a quiet, private marriage, 
like that at Uncle Peleg's is jist about the right thin^." 



" Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, " I am surprised to hear you talk 
that way. As to the preference of a quiet marriage over one 
of these public displays, I quite agree with you. But you are 
under a great mistake in supposing that you dare not express 
that opinion in England, for every right-minded person here will 
agree with you. Any opinion that cannot be expressed here must be 
a wrong one, indeed ; the judgment y the feeling, and the taste of 
society is so good! But still the ceremony should always be per- 
formed in the church, and as I was saying, I'm surprised to hear 
you approve of such an affair as that at Squire Peleg's office. 
Making marriage a mere contract, to be executed like any other 
secular obligation, before the civil magistrate, is one of the most 
ingenious contrivances of the devil to loosen moral obligations 
that I know of at all. 

"When I tell you the Whigs were great advocates for it here, 
I am sure I need not give you its character in stronger language. 
Their advent to office depended on all those opposed to the 
church; everything, therefore, that weakened its influence or 
loosened its connexion with the state, was sure to obtain their 
strenuous assistance. Transferring this ceremony from the church 
to the secular power was one of their popular kites ; and to show 
vou how little it was required by those who demanded it, or how 
little it was valued when obtained, except in a political point of 
view, I need only observe that the number of magisterial marriages 
is on the decrease in England, and not on the increase. 

" The women of England, much to their honour, object to 
this mode of marriage. Intending to fulfil their own obligations, 
and feeling an awful responsibility, they desire to register them 
at the altar, and to implore the blessing of the Church on the 
new career of life into which they are about to enter, and at the 
same time they indulge the rational and well-founded hope that 
the vows so solemnly and publicly made to them before God and 
man will be more strictly observed in proportion as they are 
more deeply considered, and more solemnly proclaimed. There 
are not many things that suggest more important considerations 
than that connexion which is so lightly talked of, so inconsider- 
ately entered into, and so little appreciated as — Marriage." 




V ' 


" "Which way are you a-goin', Squire ?" said Mr. Slick, who 
saw me preparing to go out this morning. 

" I am going," I said, " to call on an old schoolfellow that is 
now living in London. I have not seen him since we sat on the 
same benches at school, and have been unable to ascertain his 
address until this moment." 

" Could he have ascertained your address ?" 

" Oh, yes, easily ; all the Nova Scotians in town know it ; 
most of the Canada merchants, and a very large circle of acquaint- 
ance. Many others who did not know so well where to inquire 
as he does, have found it." 

" Let me see," he replied, *' how long have we been here ? — r 
Four months. — Let him be, then ; he ain't worth knowin', that ' 
feller — he hante a heart as big as a pea. Oh ! Squire, you don't 
know 'cause you hante travelled none ; but I do, 'cause I've been 
everywhere a' most, and I'll tell you somethin* you hante ex- 
perienced yet. Ain't there a good many folks to Halifax, whose 
faces you know, but whose names you don't, and others whose 
mugs and names you know, but you don't parsonally know them } 
— certainly. Well, then, s'pose you are in London, or Paris, or 
Canton, or Petersburg, and you suddenly come across one o' these 
critturs, that you pass every day without lookin' at or thinkin' 
of, nor knowin' or carin' to know when you are to home — ^What's 
the first thing both of you do, do as you suppose ? Why run 
right up to each other, out paws and shake hands, till all is 
blue again. Both of you ax a bushel of questions, and those 
questions all lead one way — to Nova Scotia, to Halifax, to the 
road to Windsor ; — then you try to stay together, or travel 
together, and if either of you get sick, tend each other, or get 
'Qto scrapes, fight for each other. — Why ? because you are 
countrymen — countymen — townsmen — because you see home 
wrote in each other's face as plain as anything ; because each of 
you is in t' other's eyes a part of that home, a part that when 
you are in your own coimtry you don't valy much ; because you 
nave both nearer and dearer parts, but still you have a kind of 
nateral attraction to each other, as a piece of home ; and then 
that awakens all the kindly feelin's of the heart, and makes 
it as sensitive and tender as a skinned eel. But, oh, dear 





ise you 
ind of 



me ! if this piece of home happens to be an old schoolfeller, 
don't it awaken idees, not only of home, but idees long 
since forgotten of old time ? Memory acts on thought like 
sudden heat on a dormant fty^ it wakes it from the dead, puts 
new life into it, and it stretches out its winas and buzzes round 
as if it had never slept. When you see him, aon*t the old school- 
master rise up before you as nateral as if it was only yesterday ? 
and the school-room, and the noisy, larkin', hapny liolidays, and 
you boys let out racin', yelpin', hollurin*, and whoopin' like mad 
with pleasure, and the play-ground, and the game at bass in the 
fields, or burly on the long pond on the ice, or campin' out a-night 
at Chester lakes to fish — catchin' no trout, gettin wet thro' and 
thro' with rain like a drown'd rat — eat up body and bones by 
black flies and muschetoes, retumin* tired to death, and calliu' 
it a party of pleasure; or riggin' out in pumps for dancin' 
schools, and the little fust loves for the pretty little galls there, 
when the heart was romantic and looked away ahead into an 
avenue of years, and seed you and your little tiny partner at the 
head of it, driven in a tandem sleigh of your own, and a grand 
house to live in, and she your partner through life ; or else you 
in the grove back o' the school, away up in a beech tree, settin' 
straddle-legged on a limb with a jack-knife in your hand cuttin' 
into it the two fust letters of her name — F. L., fust love ; never 
dreamin' the bark would grow over them in time on the tree, and 
the world, the flesh, and the devil, rub them out of the heart in 
arter years also. Then comes robbin' orchards and fetchin* 
home nasty puckery apples to eat, as sour as Greek, that steaUn' 
made sweet ; or gettin' out o' winders at night, goin' down to old 
Ross's, orderin' a supper, and pocketin* your — — fust whole bottle 
o' wine — oh ! that fust whole bottle christened the man, and you 
woke up sober next mornin', and got the fust taste o' the world 
— sour in the mouth — sour in the stomach — sour in the temper, 
and sour all over; — yes, that's the world. Oh, Lord! don't 
them and a thousand more things rush right into your mind, like a 
crowd into a theatre seein' which can get in fust. Don't it carry 
you back afore sad realities, blasted hopes, and false hearts h?.d 
chilled your aifections. 

"Oh, dear! you don't know, 'cause in course you hante 
travelled none, and can't know, but I do. Lord! meetin' a 
crittur away from home that way, has actilly made me pipe 
my eye afore now. Now a feller that don't feel this, that 
was to school with you, and don't yarn towards you, 
that is a-sojournin' here and knows you are here, and don't 



THE attache; 

run full clip to you and say, * Oh, how glad I am to see you ! 
Come and see me as often as you can ; — can't I do anything for 
you, as I know town better nor you do ? Is there anything I 
can show you ? Oh ! how glad I've been to see your name in 
the papers — to hear folks praise your books — to find you've got 
on in the world. Well, I am glad of it for your sake — for the 
sake 0* the school and old Nova Scotia, and then how's so and 
so ? Does A drink as hard as ever ? is B as busy a-skinnin' a 
sixpence ? and C as fond of horse racing ? They tell me D is 
the most distinguished man in New Brunswick, and so on—eh ? 
What are you a-doin' to-day, come and dine with me ? — engaged ; 
to-morrow ? — engaged ; next day ? — engaged. Well, name a day 
— engaged every day for a fortnight. — The devil you are ; — at 
this rate I shan't see you at all. Well, mind you are engaged to 
me for your Sunday dinner every Sunday you are in town, and as 
much oftener as you can. I'll drop in every momin' as I go to 
my office about breakfast time and give you a hail — I have an 
appointment now. Good bye ! old feller, devilish glad to see- 
you ;' and then returnin' afore he gets to the door, and pattin' 
you on the shoulders, affectionate like, he'd say with a grave 
face — * Good heavens ! how many sad recollections you call up ! 
How many of our old schoolfellows are called to their long 
account ! — eh ? Well, I am right glad to see you agin safe and 
sound, wind and limb, at any rate — good bye !' 

" Yes, Squire, every pleasure has its pain, for pain and plea- 
sure are like the Siamese twins. They have a nateral cord 
of union, and are inseparable. Pain is a leetle, jist a leetle 
smaller than t'other, is more narvous, and, in course, twice as 
sensitive ; you can't feel pleasure without feelin' pain, but that 
ain't the worst of it nother ; for git on t'other side of 'em, and 
you'll find you can often feel pain without as much as touchin' 
pleasure with the tip eend of your finger. Yes, the pleasure of 
seein' you brings up to that crittur that pang of pain that shoots 
through the heart. ' How many of our old schoolfellers are 
called to their long accounts !' 

" How nateral that was ! for. Squire, of all that we knew 
when young, how few are really left to us ! The sea has swal- 
lowed son.e, and the grave has closed over others ; the battle- 
field has had its share, and disease has marked out them that 
is to follow. 

•• Ah me ! we remember with pleasure, we think with pain. But 
this crittur — heavens and airth ! what's the sea, the grave, the 
battle-field, or disease, in comparison of him ? Them's nateral 

'/ i 



■e you ! 
ing for 
thing I 
lame in 
I've got 
•for the 

so and 
innin' a 
ne D is 
a — eh ? 
igaged ; 
e a day 
re ; — at 
;aged to 
[, and as 

I go to 
have an^ 
i to see> 
, pattin' 
a grave 
call up ! 
eir long 
safe and 

nd plea- 
ral cord 
a leetle 
wice as 
bat that 
em, and 
asure of 
t shoots 
ers are 

ire knew 
las swal- 
em that 

n. But 
ave, the 

things ; but here's a feller ivithout a heart ; it has been starved 
to death by the neglect of the affections. 

*' Oh ! Squire, if you'd a-travelled alone in distant countries 
as I have, you'd a-knowed it's a great relief in a foreign land to 
meet one from home, and open the flood-gate, and let these 
thoughts and feelin's out ; for when they are pent up they ain't 
healthy, and breed home-sickness, and that's an awful feelin' ; and 
the poorer a country is folks come from, the more they are subject to 
this complaint. How does he know you ain't home-sick, for that 
ain't confined to no age ? How does he know there never was 
a man in the world met with so much kindness in London as 
you have, and from entire strangers too, and that you don't 
need him or his attentions ? How does he know I am with you, 
that can talk a man dead ? He don't know, and he don't care. 
Now, as he hante been near you, and you here four months, he 
ain't worth a cuss ; he ain't nateral, and a crittur that ain't 
nateral ain't worth nothin'. Cut him as dead as a skunk ; say 
as Crockett did, * you may go to h — 1, and I'll go to Texas.' If 
1 was you I wouldn't tell that story, it tante no credit to Nova 
Scotia, and your countrymen won't thank you a bit for it, I can 
tell you. 

" Oh ! Squire, I am 'most afraid sometimes there ain't no sich 
thing as rael friendship in the world. I am a good natered 
crittur, and always was, and would go to old Nick to sarv e a 
friend. Father used to say I was like a saw horse, my arms was 
always open ; and I'd find in the eend I'de be sawed up myself 
for my pains. Faith ! if I'm in trouble or keeled up with sick- 
ness, every feller has an excuse : one's goin' to marry a wife, 
another to buy a yoke of oxen, and a third sais it will cost him 
sixpence. Doin' a man a favour is no way to make a friend : the 
moment you lay him under an obligation you've sold him. An 
obligation is a horrid heavy thing to carry. As soon as he buckles 
it on and walks a little way, he sais, * Well, this is a-most a devil of 
a heavy pack to carry ; I'm e'en a'most tired to death. I'll sit 
down and rest ;' so down he pops and laments his hard fortin. 
Then he ups and tries it again, and arter joggin' on a space, sais, 
' Plague take the strap, how it cuts into the shoulder, don't it ? 
I must stop agin and fix it.' Then he takes a fresh departur', 
and grumbles and growls as he goes on like a bear with a sore 
head, and sais, ' Oh ! my sakes, am I to carry this infarnal bundle 
all my life long ? Why it will kill me, its so everlastin' almighty 



i f- 

\ I 


THE attache; 

heavy, that's a fact. I must stop to drink, for I am 'nation 
thirsty.' Well, he slips it off, and lays down and takes a drink, 
and then gets up and stretches himself, and sais, * Well, I feel 
a great deal better, and lighter too, without that *tamal knap- 
sack. I'll be shot if I'll take it up agin, see if I do ; so there 
now !' and he jist giyes it a kick into the brook and walks on 
without it, a free man, whistlin' as he goes that old psalm tune, 

* ! be loyful, all ye lands !' 

" Nothin* is so heavy to carry as gratitude. Few men have 
strength enough to bear the weight long, I can tell you. The 
only way that I know to make a feller your friend is to kick him. 
Jist walk into the street, look out a good countenanced crittur 
that you think you'd like, seize him by the scruff of the neck, 
hold him out to arm's-length, and kick him into a jelly a'most, 
and when you've done, turn him round, stare him in the face, 
look puzzled like, and say, • I beg your pardon, I am very sorry, 
but I took you for so and so ; 1*11 make you any compensation 
in the world ; I feel quite streaked, I do indeed.' ' I'll tell you. 
what it is, my friend,* he'll say — he'll call you friend at oncet — 

* tell you what, my friend, another time, when you assault a 
man, be sure that you get hold of the right one. A mistake of 
this kind is no joke, I assure you.' * My dear friend,' sais you — 
for you'll call nim dear friend at oncet — *you can't feel more 
ugly about it than I do ; I'm grieved to death.' 

"You and him will be sworn friends afterwards for ever 
and a day, see if you ain't; he has been kicked into an in- 
timacy ; an obligation sells one out of it. We ma}^ like those 
we have injured, or that have injured us, 'cause it is some- 
thing we can forgive or forget. We can't like those that have 
done us a favour, for it is a thing we never forgive. Now, 
what are ceremonials but ice-housea that keep affections cold, when 
the blood is at a high temperature ? Returnin' calls by leavin' 
cards ; what sense is there in that ? It consumes good card- 
board, and wastes valuable time. Doctors are the only people 
that understand pay in' and returnin' visits I shall never forget 
a story brother Josiah, the Doctor, told me oncet about the 
medical way of visitin*. I was a-goin' oncet from Charleston to 
Baltimore, and sais Josiah, * Sam,' sais he, ' when do you go ?' 

* To-morrow,' sais I, • at eight.' * I'll go with you,' he sais ; * I 
want to make a momin' call there.' 'A mornin' call,' sais I; 
'it's a plaguy long way to go for that, and considerable costly. 




at have 

i, when 
d card- 

)ut the 
ston to 
)U go ?' 

sals I ; 

too, unless it's a gal you want to see, and that alters the \se. 
Are you so soft in the horn as to go all that dii,i mce jist to kave 
a card ?* * Sam,' he sais, do you recollect when we was to night- 
school to old Minister, his explainin' what ellipsis was ?* * No, 
I never heerd of it afore, is it a medicine ?' * Medicine ? what 
a fool you he.' 'Well, what the plague is it then,' sais I, *is 
it French ?* * "Why, Sam, do you recollect one single blessed 
thing you ever larnt to school ?' * Yes, I do,* sais I, • I lamt that 
a man who calls his brother a fool is apt to git knocked down, in 
the first place, and is in danger of soraethin' worse hereafter, a 
plaguy sight stronger nor your doctor's stuflF.* * Don't you 
recollect ellipsis ?' sais he ; * it's somethin' to be onderstood but 
not expressed.* *Well I think I do mind it, now you men- 
tion it,* sais I. *Well,' sais he, 'doctors' visits are ellipsis 
visits there is a great deal onderstood but not expressed. 
I'll tell you how it is : I've got business at the bank at 
Baltimore. Well, I go there, do my business up all tight 
and snug, and then go call on Doctor Flagg. Flagg sais, ' How 
are you, Slick ? when did you come, eh ? glad to see you, old fel- 
low. Come with me, I have a most interestin' case ; it's a lady ; 
she gobbles her food like a hen-turkey, and has got the dispepsy. 
I don't like to talk to her about chawin' her food fine, and boltin , 
for I'm afeerd of offendin' her ; so I give her medicine to do the 
work of her teeth.' • Oh !' sais I, * I take' — and I goes with him 
to see her ; he tells me her treatment afore her, jist as if he had 
never mentioned it, and as grave as if he was in airnest. * Excel- 
lent,' I say, — ' nothin' could be better; that infusion of quassia 
chips is somethin' new in practice, that I take to be a discovery 
of your own.* He sais, * Yes ; I rather pride myself on it.' 
* You have reason,' I say. — * I think, madam,' sais I, ' there is 
some plethora here. I would recommend you to comminuate 
your food into a more attenuated shape, for the peristallic action 
IS weak.* —We return, and he slips a twenty-dollar bill into my 
hands ; as we go out the front door, he winks and sais, ' Do you 
stay to-morrow. Slick, I have another case.' — * No, thank you, 
I'm off at daylight.' 

" When he comes to Charleston I return the visit, wiy patients 
fee him, and travellin' costs neither of us a cent. Its done by 
eUipses, it ain't all put down in writin', or expressed in words, 
but its onderstood. 

" No, Squire, friendship is selfishness half the time. If your 
skunk of a blue-nose friend could a-made anythin' out o' you. 



he'd a-called on you the day arter you arrived. Depend upon it 
that crittur onderstands ellipses, and its the principle he acts on 
in making and returning visits." 



Yesterday we visited the Polytechnic, and on our return 
through Regent Street I met a person whose face, although I 
did not recognise it, reminded me so strongly of some one I had 
seen before, that my attention was strongly attracted towards 
him by the resemblance. The moment he saw me he paused^ 
and taking a second look at me, advanced and offered me hi^ 

" It is many years since we met, Mr. Poker," he said. " I ob- 
serve you do not recollect me, few of my old friends do, I am so 
altered. I am Major Furlong." 

" My dear Major," I said, " how do you do ? I am delighted 
to see you again ; pray how is all your family, and especially my 
dear young friend, Mise ^urlong ?" 

A dark shadow passed suddenly across his face, he evaded the 
question, and said he was glad to see me looking so well ; and then 
inquiring my address, said he would take an early opportunity of 
calling to see me. 

I am a blunderer, and always have been. Every man knows, 
or ought to know, that after a long interval of absence he should 
be cautious in asking questions about particular individuals of 
a family, lest death should have invaded the circle in the mean- 
time, and made a victim of the object of his inquiry. It was 
evident that I had opened a wound not yet healed, and instead 
of giving pleasure, had inflicted pain. A stumbling horse is in- 
curable, a blundering man, I fear is equally so. One thing is 
certain, 1 will never hereafter inquire for any one's health in 
particular, but after the family generally. I now understand the 
delicate circumspection of Mr. Slick's phraseology, who in- 
variably either asks, " How is all to home to-day ?" or " How is 
all to hom^ in a gineral way, and yourself in particular, to-day ?" 



I ob- 

am so 

It was 
ie is in- 
ling is 
alth in 
md the 
ho in- 
-dey ?" 

I will be cautious for the future. But to return to my narrative, 
for as I grow older I find my episodes grow longer. I said we 
should dine at home that day, at our lodgings, 202, Piccadilly 
(I insert the number, gentle reader, because I recommend Mr. 
Weeks, of 202, to your particular patronage), and that Mr. Hope- 
well and myself would be most happy to see him at seven, if he 
would favour us with his company. " Weeks," I said, " is a 
capital purveyor. I can promise you an excellent bottle of wine, 
and you will meet * Mr. Slick.' " Neither the good wine, of 
which I knew him to be an excellent judge, nor the humour of 
*' the clockmaker," which, eight years before, he so fully appre- 
ciated and so loudly applauded, appeared to have any attractions 
for him ; he said he should be most happy to come, and took his 
leave. Happy ! — how mechanically we use words ! how little we 
feel what we say when we use phrases which fashion has pre- 
scribed, instead of uttering our thoughts in our own way, or 
clothing them in their natural apparel ! Happy ! Poor man, he 
will never again know happiness, until he reaches that place 
'* Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at 

" Who the plague is that horrid solemncoly man V* said Mr. 
Slick when I rejoined him ; " he looks as if he had lost his last 
shillin', and as it was the only survivin' one out of twenty, which 
made the round sum of the family, he was afeered he should not 
get another. Who the plague is he ? London ain't no place for 
a man to be in who is out of the tin, I can tell you.'" 

" He is Major Furlong, of the regiment," I said. "When 

I first became acquainted with him, eight years ago, he was 

stationed at Halifax, Nova Scotia ; he was one of the most agree- 
able men I ever met, and was a general favourite with his brother 
officers and the people of the west end of the town. He was a 
married man, and had two daughters, grown up, and two sons at 

" He was married, was he ?" said Mr. Slick. " Well, we find, 
in our sarvice when a feller is fool enough to accommodate him- 
self with a wife it is time for the country to disaccommodate itself 
of him. I don't know how it is in your sarvice, seein' that when 
I was to Nova Scotia I was only a clockmaker, and, in course, 
didn't dine at mess ; but I know how 'tis in our'n. We find now 
and then the wives of officers of niarciiin' regiments, the very 
delightful critturs, not always the most charmin' v omen in the 
world arter all. A little money and no beauty, or a little beauty 




and no money, or a little interest and nothin' else, are the usual 
attractions to idle or speculatin' men who want to drive a tandem 
or to sport a belle. Nor is every married man by any means 
either the most sensible or the most agreeable of his corps neither. 
Sensible he cannot be, or he would not have married. The gaudy 
tinsel of military life soon tarnishes, and when poverty shows 
thro' it like a pictur' -frame when the gildin' is worn off, it sours 
the temper too much to let 'em be agreeable. Young subalterns 
should never be sent on detachments to country quarters in our 
great Republic. This duty should be done either by sargints 
or old field officers. A sargint cannot marry without obtainin' 
permission, and is therefore safe ; and if an old officer takes to 
drinkin' at their out-o'-the-way posts, in Maine or Florida, as he 
probably will, and kill himself in his attempts to kill time, the 
regiment will be more efficient, by bein' commanded by younger 
and smarter men. To die in the sarvice of one's country is a 
glorious thing, but to die of a wife and ten children, don't 
excite no pity, and don't aim no praise, I'll be shot if it does.. 
To expose a young man to the snares and spring-traps of match- 
makin' mothers, and the charms of idle uneducated young gals 
in country quarters, is as bad as erectin' barracks on marshy 
grounds that are subject to fever and ague. It renders the 
corps unfit for duty. To be idle is to be in danger, and to be 
idle in danger is sure and certain riin. Officers stationed at these 
outposts have nothing to do but to admire and be admired — to 
sport and to flirt. They fish every day, and are fished for every 
3venin', and are, in course, as we say in the mackarel line, too 
often * hook'd in.' If the fish is more valuable than the bait, 
what must the bait be, where so little value is placed on the fish ? 
This is the reason that we hear of so many solemncoly instances 
of blasted prospects, of unhappy homesy of discontented, or dissi- 
pated husbands, and reckless or broken-hearted wives. Indeed, 
marriage in the army should be aginst the regulations of 
the service. A man can't serve two mistresses — his country 
and his wife. It sp'ilcs a good soldier to make a bad husband ; 
but it changes a woman wuss, for it convarts her, by 
changing Helton ice and snows for Alabama's heats and 
fevers, into a sort of Egyptian mummy. She dries as much 
but she don't keep so well. Lord ! how I pity an officer's wife, 
that's been dragged about from pillar to post that way. In a few 
years her skin is as yaller as an orange, or as brown as mahogany. 
She looks all eyes and mouth, as if she could take her food whole 



e usual 
' shows 
it sours 
in our 
;akes to 
,, as he 
me, the 
itry is a 
, don't 
it does. 
' match- 
mg gals 
ers the 
id to be 
at these 
red — to 
)r every 
ine, too 
le bait» 
le fish ? 
or dissi- 
ions of 
isband ; 
ler, by 
its and 
's wife, 
n a few 
1 whole 

and as thin and light in the body as a night-hawk. She gets 
mannish too, from bein* among men so much, and her talk gets a 
sportin' turn, instead of talk of the feminine gender. She tells 
stories of bosses, and dogs, and huntin', and camps, and our young 
fellers, as she calls the boy officers, and their sprees. She sees 
what she hadn't ought to see, and hears what she hadn't ought 
to hear, and knows what she oughtn't to know, and sometimes 
talks what she hadn't ought to talk. It e'en a jist sp'iles her in 
the long run. And the children — poor little wretches ! — what a 
school a barracks is for them ! What beautiful new oaths the 
boys lam, and splendid leetle bits and scraps of wickedness they 
pick up from the sodgers and sodger boys ; and the leetle galls, 
what nice leetle stories they hear ; and what pretty leetle tricks 
they lam from camp women, and their leetle galls ! And if there 
ain't nothin' but the pay, what an everlastin' job it is to alter 
frocks, and razee cc. its, and coax down stockin's for them. A 
gold epaulette on the shoulder, and a few coppers in the pocket, 
makes poverty farment till it gets awful sour ; and silk gowns 
and lace collars, and muslin dresses and feathers, for par- 
ties abroad, and short allowance for the table to home, makes 
gentility not very gentle sometimes. When the galls grows 
up, its wuss. There is nobody to walk with, or ride with, or 
drive with, or sing with, or dance with, but young officers. Well, 
it ain't jist easy for poor marm, who is up to snuiT, to work it so 
that they jist do enough of all this to marry ; and yet not enough 
talkin' to get talked of themselves — to get a new name afore they 
have sp'ilt their old one, and jist walk the chalks exactly. And 
then, what's wuss than all, its a roost here, and a roost there, 
and a wanderin' about everywhere ; but there ain't no home — no 
leetle flower-garden — no leetle orchard — no leetle brook — no 
leetle lambs — no leetle birds — no pretty leetle rooms — with pretty 
leetle nick-knackery on 'em ; but an empty barrack-room ; cold, 
cheerless lodgin's, that ain't in a nice street ; or an awful door, 
and awful bad inn. Here to-day, and gone to-morrow — to 
know folks but to forget 'em — to love folks but to part from 'em 
— to come without pleasure, to leave without pain ; and, at last— 
for a last will come to every story — still no home. Yes ! there is 
a home too, and I hadn't ought to forget it, tho' it is a small 

*' Jist outside the ramparts, in a nice little quiet nook, there is a 
little grass mound, the matter of live or six feet long, and two feet 
wide or so, with a Uttle slab at one eend, and a round stone at 



t'other eend ; and wild roses 

it, and 

little birds 


build there and sing, and there ain't no more trouble then. 
Father's house was the fust home — but that was a gay, cheer- 
ful, noisy one ; this is a quiet, silent, but very safe and secure 
one. It is the last home// No, Sir! matrimony in the army 
should be made a capital offence, and a soldier that marries, 
like a man who desarts his post, should be brought to a court" 
martial, and made an immediate example of, for the benefit of the 
sarvice. Is that the case in your regiments ?" 

*• I should think not," I said ; "but I do not know enough of 
the array to say whether the effects are similar or not ; but, as far 
as my little experience goes, I should say the picture is overdrawn, 
even as regards your own. If it be true, however, Mrs. Furlong 
was a delightful exception ; she was as amiable as she was beauti- 
ful, and had a highly cultivated and a remarkably well regulated 
mind. I had not the good fortune to make their acquaintance 
when they first arrived, and in a few months after we became 
known to each other, the regiment was ordered to Canada, where' 
I lost sight of them. I had heard, indeed, that he had sold 
out of the army, purchased an estate near Prescott, and settled 
on it with his family. Soon after that the rebellion broke out, 
and I was informed that his buildings had been destroyed by the 
reformers, but I never learned the particulars. This was all that 
I could recall to my mind, and to this I attributed his great 
alteration of manner and appearance." Punctually at seven the 
Major arrived for dinner. The conversation never rose into cheer- 
fulness by a reference to indifferent subjects, nor sunk into melan- 
choly by allusions to his private affairs, but it was impossible not 
to see that this even tenour was upheld by a great exertion of 
moral courage. During the evening Mr. HopeweU, who only 
knew that he was a half-pay oflicer that had settled in Canada, 
unfortunately interrogated him as to the rebellion, and the share 
he had taken, if any, in suppressing it, when he told us the melan- 
choly story related in the following chapter. 






" You are aware, Mr. Poker," said Major Furlong, that shortly 
after I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance at Halifax, 
my regiment was ordered to Canada; I was stationed in the 
upper province, the fertihty and beauty of which far exceeded any 
accounts I had ever heard of it. Our next tour of duty was to be 
in the "West Indies. My poor Amelia shuddered at the thought 
of the climate, and suggested to me, as our family was getting to 
be too expensive to remove so often, to terminate our erratic life 
by settling in Canada. A very favourable opportunity occurring 
soon after, I sold out of the army, purchased a large tract of land, 
erected a very pretty cottage, and all necessary farm buildings, and 
provided myself with as many cattle of the best description as the 
meadow-land would warrant me in keeping. In a short time I 
was very comfortably settled, ; id my wife and daughters were 
contented and happy. We had not only all the necessaries and 
comforts of life about us, but many of the luxuries, and I congratu- 
lated myself upon having turned my sword into a ploughshare. This 
state of things, however, was not doomed to last long. So many 
unwise concessions hac^ been recently made by the Colonial Office 
to local demagogues, chat they became emboldened in their 
demands, and the speeches of Roebuck and Hume, in Parliament, 
and a treasonable letter of the latter, which had been widely cir- 
culated through the country, fanned the flame of discontent until 
it broke out into open rebellion. They gave themselves the very 
appropriate title of 'Patriots,' 'Reformers,' and 'Liberals' — 
names that are always assumed when the deception and delusion 
of the lower orders is to be attempted. They were desperate 
men, as such people generally are, destitute of property, of cha- 
racter, or of principle, and as such found a warm sympathy in the 
scum of the American population, the refuse of the other colonies, 
and the agitators in England. A redress of grievances was their 
watchword, but fire and murder were their weapons, and plunder 
their real object. The feeble Government of the "Whigs had left 
us to our own resources — we had to arm in our own defence, and 



a body of my neighbours, forming themselves into a volunteer 
corps, requested me to take the command. The duties we had 
to perform were of the most harassing nature, and the hardships 
we endured in that inclement season of the year baffle all descrip- 
tion and exceed all belief. I soon became a marked man — my 
life was threatened, my cattle were destroyed, and my family 
frequently shot at. At last the Reformers seized the opportunity 
of my absence from home with the volunteers, to set fire to my 
house, and as the family escaped from the flames, to shoot at 
them as they severally appeared in the light of the fire. My 
eldest daughter was killed in attempting to escape, the rest 
reached the woods, with the slight covering they could hastily 
put on in their flight, where they spent the night in the deep 
snow, and were rescued in the morning, nearly exhausted with 
fatigue and terror, and severely frostbitten. 

" During all this trying period, my first care was to provide for 
my houseless, helpless family ; I removed them to another and 
more tranquil part of the country, and then resumed my com- ' 
mand. By the exertions and firmness of M'Nab, and the bravery 
and loyalty of the British part of the population, the rebellion was 
at last put down, and I returned to my desolate home. But, alas! 
my means were exhausted — I had to mortgage my property to 
raise the necessary funds to rebuild my house and re-stock my 
farm, and, from a state of afiluence, I found myself suddenly 
reduced to the condition of a poor man. I felt that my services 
and my losses, in my country's cause, gave me a claim upon tlie 
Government, and I solicited a small country office, then vacant, 
to recruit my finances. 

" Judge of my surprise, when I was told that I was of different 
politics from the local administration, which had recently been 
formed from the disaffected party ; that I was a loyalist ; that 
the rebels must be pacified — that the well understood wishes of 
the people must be considered, a large portion of whom were 
opposed to Tories, Churchmen, and Loyalists ; that the rebels 
were to be pardoned, conciliated, and promoted ; and that I had 
not the necessary qualifications for office, inasmuch as I was a 
gentleman, had been in arms against the people, upheld British 
connection, and was a monarchist. This I could have borne. It 
was a sad reverse of fortune, it is true ; my means were greatly 
reduced, my feelings deeply wounded, and my pride as a man and 
an Englishman severely mortified. I knew, however, I was in 
no way the cause of this calamity, and that I still had the forti- 



tude of a eoldk. and the hope of a Christian. But, alas ! the 
sufferings my poor wife endured, when driven, at the dead of 
night, to seek shelter in the snowdrifts from her merciless pur- 
suers, had thrown her into a decline, and day by day I had the 
sad and melancholy spectacle before my eyes of this dear and 
amiable woman, sinking into the grave with a ruined constitution 
and a broken heart. Nor was I suffered to remain unmolested 
myself, even when the rebellion had ceased. Murder, arson, and 
ruin had not yet glutted the vengeance of these remorseless 
Reformers. I constantly received threatening letters; men in 
disguise were still occasionally seen lurking about my premises, 
and three several times I was shot at by these assassins. Death 
at last put an end to the terrors and sufferings of poor Amelia, 
and I laid her beside her murdered daughter. Having sold my 
property, I left the country with the little remnant of my fortune, 
and sought refuge in my native land with my remaining daughter 
and two isons. Good heavens ! had I taken your advice, which 
still rings in my ears, I should have escaped this misery. ' Don't 
settle in Canada,' you said, 'it is a border country ; you are 
exposed to sympathisers without, and to patriots within — below 
you is treason, and above you is Durhamism. Years and Whigs 
must pass away, and Toryism and British feeling return, before 
tranquillity will be restored in that unhappy country.* Remark- 
able prophecy ! wonderfully fulfilled ! Oh ! had I taken your 
advice, and gone among Turks and infidels, obedience to the laws 
would have, at all events, insured protection ; and defending the 
government, if it had not been followed by reward, would at least 
not have incurred displeasure and disgrace. But, alas ! I had 
been bred a soldier, and been taught to respect the British flag, 
and, unhappily, sought a home in a colony too distant for a British 
army to protect or British honour to reach. My poor dear sainted 

wife — my poor murdered daughter may ** 

Here, overcome by his feeli ^gs, he covered his face with his 
hands, and was dreadfully and fearfully agitated. At last, sprin- 
ing suddenly up in a manner that brought us all to our feet, he 
exhibited that wildness of eye peculiar to insanity, and seizing 
me with wonderful muscular energy by the arm, he pointed to 
the comer of the room, and screamed out " There ! there ! do you 
see it ? — look, look ! — it is all on fire ! — do you hear those cursed 
rifles ? — that's Mary in the light there !" and then raising his 
voice to a fearful pitch, called out, " Run ! for God's sake ; run, 
Mary, to the shade, or they'll shoot you ! — make for the woods ! 





— don't atop to look behind ! — run, dear, run !" — and then sud- 
denly lowering his tone to a harsh whisper, which still grates in 
my ears as I write, he continued, " There ! look at the corner of 
that barn — do you see that Ueformer standing in the edge of the 
light ? — look at him ! — see him ! — good Heavens 1 he is taking 
aim with his rifle ! — she's lost, by G — d !" and then shouting 
out again " Run, Mary ! — run to the shade ;" and again whis- 
pering "Do you hear that? He has fired — that's only the 
scream of fright — he missed her — run ! run !" He shouted again. 
"One minute more, and you are safe — keep to the right ;" and 
then pressing my arm with his hand like a vice, he said, " They 
have given him another rifle — he is aiming again — he has shot 
her ! — by Heavens, she's killed 1" and springing forward, he fell 
on the floor at full length in a violent convulsion fit, the blood 
gushing from his nose and mouth in a dreadful manner. 

"This is an awful scene !" said Mr. Hopewell, after the Major 
had been undressed, and put to bed, and tranquillity in some 
measure restored again. "This is a fearful scene. I wonder 
how much of this poor man's story is correct, or how much is owing 
to the insanity under which he is evidently labouring. — I fear the 
tale is too true. I have heard much that confirms it. What a 
fearful load of responsibility rests on the English Government of 
that day, that exposed the loyal colonists to all these horrors ; and 
then regarded their fidelity and valour, their losses and their 
sufferings, with indifference — almost bordering on contempt. It 
was not always thus. After the American Revolution, the British 
gave pensions to the provincial officers, and compensation to those 
who had suffered for their loyalty. Fidelity was then appreciated, 
and honoured. But times have sadly changed. When I heard of 
the wild theories Lord Durham propounded, and the strange mix- 
ture of absolutism and democracy prescribed by the quackery of 
Thompson, I felt that nothing but the advent of the Tories would 
ever remedy the evils they were entailing on the colonies. Re- 
moved they never can be, but they can be greatly palliated : and 
a favourable change has already come over the face of things. A 
man is no longer ashamed to avow himself loyal; nor will his 
attachment to his Queen and country be any longer, I hope, a 
disqualification for office. I trust the time has now arrived, when 
we shall never again hear of — A Canadian Exile /** 





Mr. Hopewell having gone into the country for a few 
weeks, to visit some American families, the Attach^ and myself 
went to Brighton, Leamington, Cheltcnlmm, and some minor 
watering-places, for the purpose of comparing them with each 
other ; as also with Saratoga and other American towns of a. 
similar kind. " As a stranger, Mr. Slick, and a man of small 
means," I said, " I rather like a place like Cheltenham. The 
country around is very beautiful, the air good ; living very cheap, 
amusement enough provided, especially tor one so easily amused 
as myself. And then there is less of that chilly and repulsive 
English reserve than you find elsewhere." 

"Well," said Mr. Slick, "I like *em, and I don't like 'em; 
kinder sort o' so, and kinder sort of not so, but more not so nor 
so. For a lark, such as you and me has had, why, it's well 
enough ; and it ain't bad as a place for secin' character ; but I 
wouldn't like to live here, somehow, all the year round. They 
have but four objects in view here, and them they are for ever- 
lastin' a-chasin' arter — health or wealth — life or a wife. It 
would be fun enough in studyin' the folks, as I have amused 
myself many a day in doin', only them horrid solemncoly-lookin' 
people that are struck with death, and yet not dead — totterin', 
shakin', tremblin', crawlin', and wheelin about, with their legs 
and feet gone, wheezin', coffin', puffin* and blowin', with their 
bellowses gone — feelin', leadin', stumblin' and tumblin', with 
their eyes gone, — or trumpet-eared, roarin', borein', callin', and 
bawlin', with their hearin* gone, — don't let you think of nothin' 
else. These, and a thousand more tri ks, death plays here, in 
givin' notice to quit, makes me feel .3 if I might be drafted 
myself some fine day into the everlastiu' corps of veteran invaUds, 
and have to put on the uniform, and go the rounds with the 
awkward squad. Oh, dear ! for a feller like me, that's always 
travelled all my life as hard as ever I could lick, or a horse like 
old Clay could carry me, for to come at the eend of the journey 
to wind up the last stage, with a leetlo four-wheeled waggon, and 
a man to drag me on the side-path I What a skary kind o* 
thought it is, ain't it ? Oh, dear ! it's sot one 0' my feet asleep 
already, only a-thinkiu' of it — it has, upou my soul! Let's 





walk to the seat over there, where I can sit, and kick my heel, 
for posi^/wfly, my legs is gittin' numh. I wonder whether palsy 
is ketchin' ? The sick and the well here ought to have a great 
caucus meetin', and come to an onderstandin'. Them that's 
healthy should say to t'others, 'Come now, old fellows, let's 
make a fair division of these places. If you are sick, choose 
your ground, and you shall have it. Do you want sea-air? 
Well, there is Brighton, you shall have it ; it's a horrid stupid 
place, and just fit for you, and will do your business for you in a 
month. — Do you want inland air ? Well, there is Leamington 
or Cheltenham — take your choice. Leamington, is it? Well 
then, you shall have it ; and you may take Heme Bay and Bath 
into the bargain ; for we want to be liberal, and act kindly to you, 
seein' you aint well. Now there's four places for you — mind you 
stick to 'em. If you go anywhere else, you shall be transported 
for life, as sure as rates. Birds of a feather flock together. All 
you sick folks go there, and tell your aches and pains, and^ 
receipts, and quack medicines to each other. It's a great com-' 
fort to a sick man to have some feller to tell his nasty, dirty, 
shockin' stories about his stomach to ; and no one will listen to 
you but another sick man, 'cause when you are done, he's a-goin' 
to up and let you have his interestin' history. Folks that's well, 
in gineral always vote it a bore, and absquotolate — they wont 
listen, that's a fact. They jist look up to the sky, as soon as 
you begin, — I suffer dreadfully with bile, — and say, — Oh! it's 
goin' to rain, do go in, as you have bean takin' calomel ; — and 
they open a door, shove you into the entry, and race right off 
as hard as they can clip. Who the devil wants to hear about 
bile ? Well, then, as you must have somebody to amuse you, 
we will give you into the bargain a parcel of old East Indgy 
officers, that ain't ill and ain't well ; ripe enough to begin to 
decay, and most likely are a little too far gone in places. They 
wont keep good long ; it 's likely old Scratch will take 'em sudden 
some night ; so you shall have these fellows. They lie so like 
the devil they '11 make you stare, that 's a fact. If you only 
promise to let them get on an elephant arter dinner, they '11 let 
you tell about your rumatics, what you 're rubbed in, and took 
in, how 'cute the pain is, and you may grin and make faces to 
'em till you are tired ; and tell 'em how you didn't sleep ; and 
how shockin' active you was once upon a time when you was 
young ; and describe all about your pills, plaisters, and blisters, 
and everythin'. Well, then, pay 'em for listenin', for it desarves 
it, by mountin' them for a tiger hunt, and they '11 beguile away 



pain, I know, they will tell such horrid thumpers. Or you can 
have a hoar hunt, or a great sarpent hunt, or Suttees, or 
any thin'. Three lines for a fact, and three volumes for the 
romance. Airth and seas ! how they lie ! There are two things 
every feller leaves in the East, his liver and his truth. Few 
horses can trot as fast as they can invent ; yes, you may have 
these old 'coons, and then when you are tied by the leg and can't 
stir, it will amuse you to see them old sinners lookin' onder 
gals' bonnets, chuckin chambermaids onder the chin, and winkin' 
impedent to the shop-woman, not 'cause it pleases women, for it 
don't — ^young heifers can't abide old fellers — but 'cause it pleases 
themselves to fancy they are young. Never play cards with 
them, for if they lose they are horrid cross and everlastin' sarsy, 
and you have to swaller it all, for it's cowardly to kick a feller 
that 's [jOt the gout ; and if they win they make too much noise 
a-larfin, they are so pleased.' 

'* 'Now there is your four waterin' places for you ; stick to 
*em, don't go ramblin' about to every place in the kingdom, 
a'most, and sp'ile 'em all. We well folks will stick to our own, 
and let you be ; and you ill folks must stick to your'n, and you 
may get well, or hop the twig, or do what you like ; and we '11 
keep well, or hop the broomstick, or do anythin' we like. But 
let 's dissolve partnership, and divide the stock at any rate. Let 
January be January, and let May be May. But let 's get a 
divorce, for we don't agree over and above well.' 

"Strange! Squire, but extremes meet. When society gets 
too stiff and starch, as it is in England, it has to onbind, slack 
up, and get back to natur.' Now these waterin' places are the 
relaxin' places. They are damp enough to take the starch all 
out. Resarve is thrown off. It 's bazaar day here all the time ; 
pretty little articles to be sold at high prices. Fashion keeps the 
stalls, and fools are the purchasers. You may suit yourself with 
a wife here if you are in want of such a piece of furniture ; or if 
you can't suit yourself, you may get one, at any rate. You can 
be paired, if you don't get matched, and some folks thinks if 
critturs have the same action, that 's all that 's wanted in matin' 
beasts. Suitin' is difficult. Matrimony is either heaven or hell. 
It's happiness or misery; so be careful. But there is plenty 
of critturs, such as they be, in market here. If you are rich, 
and want a poor gal to spend your cash, here she is, ready and 
willin' — flash edicated, clap-trap accomplishments — extravagant 
as old Nick — idees above her station — won't stand haglin' long 
about your looks, she don't care for 'em ; she wants the carriage, 


■! 1 










I ' 

the , the town-house, the park, and the tin. If you are poor, 

or got an estate that' s dipt up to the chin, and want the one 
thing needful, there 's an heiress. — She is of age now — don't care 
a snap of her finger for her guardian — would like a title, but 
must be married, and so will take you, if you get yourself up 
well. She likes a handsum man. 

•* Every thin' here is managed to bring folks together. The 
shop must be made attractive now, or there is no custom. Look 
at that chap a-comin' along, he is a popular preacher. The 
turf, club, and ball-managers have bribed him ; for he preaches 
agin horse-racin', and dancin', and dress, and musick, and parties, 
and gaieties, with all his might and main ; calls the course the 
Devil's common, and the Assembly-room Old Nick's levee. 
Well, he preaches so violent, and raves so like mad agin 'em, 
it sets all the young folks crazy to go arter this forbidden fruit, 
right off the reel, and induces old folks to fetch their gals where 
such good doctrine is taught. There is no trick of modern times 
equal to it. It's actilly the makin' of the town. Then it jis't 
suits all old gals that have given up the flash line and gay line, 
as their lines got no bites to their hooks all the time they fished 
with them, and have taken the serious line, and are anglin' arter 
good men, pious men, and stupid men, that fancy bein' stupid is 
bein' righteous. So all these vinegar cruits get on the side- 
board together, cut out red flannel for the poor, and caps for o'.d 
women, nnd baby-clothes for little children ; and who go with the 
good man in their angel visits to the needy, till they praise each 
other's goodness so they think two such lumps of goodness, if 
j'inad, would make a'most a beautiful large almighty lump of it, 
and they uiarry. Ah ! here comes t'other feller. There is the 
popiiiar aoctor. What a dear man he is ! — the old like him, and 
the youiij^ like him ; the good like him, and the not so gooder 
like him ; the well like him, and the ill like him, and everybody 
likes him. He never iost a patient yet. Lots of 'em have died, 
but then they came there on purpose to die : they were done for 
in London, and sent to him to put out of pain ; but he never 
lost one since he was knee-high to a goose. He onderstands 
delicate young gals' complaints most beautiful that aint well, and 
are brought here for the waters. He knows nothin' is the matter 
of 'em but the * visitin' fever ;' but he don't let on to nobody, and 
don't pretend to know ; so he tells Ma' she must not thwart her 
dear gal : she is narvous, and won't bear contradiction — she must 
be amused, and have her own way. He prescribes a dose every 
other night of two pills, made of one grain of flour, two grains of 



sugar, and five drops of water, a-goin' to bed ; and — that it's so 
prepared she can't take cold arter it, for there ain't one bit of 
horrid mercury in it. Then he whispers to Miss ' dancin' is 
good exercise ; spirits must be kept up by company. All natur 
is cheerful ; why shouldn't young gals be? Canary birds and 
young ladies were never made for cages ; tho' fools make cages 
for them sometimes.' The gal is delighted and better, and the 
mother is contented and happy. Tiiey both recommend the 
doctor, who charges cussed high, and so he ought : he made a 
cure, and he is paid with great pleasure. There is another lady, 
a widder, ill, that sends for him. He sees what she wants with 
half an eye, he is so used to symptoms. She wants gossip. 

* Who is Mr. Adam?' sais she. 'Is he of the family of old 
Adam, or of the new family of Adam, that lives to Manchester }' 
' Oh, yes ! the family is older than sin, and as rich too,' sais he. 

* Who is that lady he walked with yesterday V ' Oh ! she is 
married,' sais doctor. Widder is better directly. * The sight of 
you, dear doctor, has done me good ; it has revived my spirits •. 
do call agin.' * It 's all on the narves, my dear widder,' sais he. 

* Take two of these bread and sugar pills, you will be all right in 
a day or two ; and, before goin' into company, take a table spoon- 
ful of this mixture. It 's a new exilaratin' sedative' (which 
means it 's a dram of parfumed spirits). ' Oh ! you will feel as 
charmin' as you look.' Widder takes the mixture that evenin', 
and is so brilliant in her talk, and so sparklin' in her eyes, old 
Adam is in love with her, and is in a fair way to have his flint 
fixed by this innocent Eve of a widder. No sooner out of 
widder's house than a good lady sends for him. He laments the 
gaiety of the town — it 's useless for him to contend against th'^ 
current : he can only lament. How can invalids stand constant 
excitement } Tells a dreadful tale of distress of a poor orphan 
family, (not foundlin's, and he groans to think there should be 
such a word as a foundlin' ; for doctors ain't sent for to announce 
their arrival to town, but only ugly old nurses,) but children o'r 
pious Christian parents. He will introduce the Rev. Mr. Abel, 
of the next parish, a worthy young man (capital living, and great 
expectations) : he will show you where the family is. ' Is his 
wife with him?' 'Oh, Lord love you! he is not married, or 
engaged either !' The good lady is better already. ' Good bye ! 
dear doctor ; pray come soon agin and see me.' 

*' lie is a cautious man — a prudent man — a 'cute man, he 
always writes the rich man's London Physician, and approves of 
all he has done. That doctor sends him more dyiu' men, next 

A A 






V It 

train, to give the last bleedin' to. It don't do to send your 
patients to a crittur that ondervalues you, it tante safe. It 
might hurt you to have a feller goin' out of the world thinkin' 
you had killed him, and a-roarin' at you like mad, and callin' 
you every name he could lay his tongue to, it's enough to ruin 
practice. Doctor, therefore, is punctilious and gentlemim-like, 
he ain't parsonal, he praises every London doctor individually 
and separately, and only d — ns 'em all in a lump. There is a 
pic-nic, if yoa like. That vfiW give you a chance to see the gals, 
and to flirt. There 's an old ruin to visit and to sketch, and 
there's that big castle; there's the library and the fruit-shop, 
and I don't know what all: there's everything a'most all the 
time, and what's better, new-comers every day. I can't say all 
this jist exactly comes up to the notch for me. It may suit you, 
Squire, all this, but it don't altogether suit my taste, for, in the 
fust place, it tante always fust chop society there. I don't see 
the peoiile of high life here jist as much as I'm used to in my 
circles, unless they 're sick, and then they don't want to see m'e, 
and I don't want to see them. And in the next place I can't 
shake hands along with death all the time without gettin' the 
cold shivers. I don't mind old fellers goin' off the hook a bit, 
'cause it 's in the course of natur'. Arter a critter can't enjoy 
his money, it' s time he took himself off, and left it to 
some one that can ; and I don't mind your dissipated chaps, 
who have brought it on 'emselves, for it sarves 'em right, and I 
don't pity 'em one mossel. That old sodger officer, now, with 
claret-coloured cheeks, who the plague cares about him ? he , 
ain't no good for war, he is so short-winded r»nd gouty ; 
and ain't no good for peace, he quarrels so all day. Now if 
he'd step off, some young feller would jist step in, that 's all. 
And there's that old nabob there. Look at the curry powder 
and mullgatony soup a peepin' through his skin. That feller 
exchanged his liver for gold. Well, it 's no consarn of mine. 
I wish him joy of his bargain, that 's all, and that I had his 
rupees when he is done with 'em. The worms will have a tough 
job of him, I guess, he 's so dried with spices and cayenne. It 
tante that I am afeerd to face death, though, for I ain't, but 
I don'<- like it, that 's all. I don't like assyfittety, but I ain't 
afeerd on it — Fear ! Lord ! a man that goes to Missarsippi like 
me, and can run an Alligator steamer right head on to a Sawyer, 
high pressure engine, valve sa7^'dered down, three hundred pas- 
sengers on board, and every soul in danger, ain't a coward, It 
takes a man, Squire, I tell you. No, I ain't afeerd, and I ain't 




1 your 

fe." It 


to ruin 



ere is a 

le gals, 

jh, and 

it- shop, 
all the 
say all 

lit you, 

, in the 

on't see 

3 in my 
see vcfe, 
I ean't 

;tin' the 

k a bit, 

't enjoy 

ft it to 
and I 

►w, with 

lim ? he , 


iSfow if 

s all. 


lat feller 
of mine, 
had his 
a tough 
nne. It 
in't, but 
I ain't 
lippi like 
Ired pas- 
ard, It 
id I ain't 


spooney, nother ; and though I don't like to see 'em, it don't 
sp'ile my sleep none, that 's a fact. But there is folks here, 
that a feller wouldn't be the sixteenth part of a man if he didn't 
feel for with all bis heart and soul. Look over there now, on 
th«it bench. Do you see that most beautiful gal there? — ain't 
she lovely ? How lily fair she is, and what a delicate colour she 
has on her cheek ; that ain't too healthy and coarse, but in- 
terestri'-like, and in good taste, not strong contrasts of red and 
white, like a milk- maid, but jist touched by nature's own artist's 
brush, blended, runnin' one into the other so, you can't tell 
where one eends and t'other begins ! And then her hair, how 
full and rich, and graceful them auburn locks be ! ain't 
they? That smile too! it 's kinder melancholy sweet, and 
plays round the mouth, sort of subdued like moonlight. But 
the eye, how mild and brilliant, and intelligent and good, it is! 
Now that 's what I call an angel, that. Well, as sure as you and 
I are a-talkin', she is goin' to heaven afore long. I know that 
gal, and I actilly love her — I do indeed. I don't mean as to 
courtin' of her, for she wouldn't have the like of me on no account. 
She is too good for me or any other feller that's knocked about 
the world as I have. Angels didiiH visit the uirth arter sin got in, 
and one o' my spicy stories, or flash oaths, would kill her dead. 
She is more fitter to worship p'raps than love ; but I love her, 
for she is so lovely, so good, so mild, so innocent, so clever. 
Oh ! what a dear she is. 

" Now, that gal is a-goin' to die as sure as the world ; she is 
in a consumption, and that does flatter so soft, und tantalizes so 
cruel, it's dreadful. It pulls down to-night, and sots up to- 
morrow. It comes with smiles and hopes, and graces, but all 
the time it 's insinuatin' itself, and U feeds on the inside till it 's 
all holler like, and then to hide its murder, it paints, and rouges, 
and sets off the outside so handsura, no soul would believe it was 
at work. * Vice imitates vartue,' Minister sais, but consumption 
imitates health, I tell you, and no mistake. Oh ! when death 
comes that way, it comes in its worst disguise, to my eye. of all 
its masks, and veils, and hoods, and concealments, it has Yes, 
she '11 die ! And then look at the lady alongside of her. Hand- 
sum woman too that, even now, tho' she is considerable older. 
Well, that 's her mother — ain't she to be pitied, poor crittur ? 
Oh ! huw anxious she watches that leetle pet of her heart. One 
day she is sure she is better, and tells her so, and the gal thinks 
so too, and they are both happy. Next day mother sees some- 
thin' that knocks away all her hope, but she don't breathe it to 

A A 2 











no one livin' ; keeps up all day before sick one, cheerful-like, but 
goes to bed at night and cries her soul out a'most, hopin' and 
fearin', submittin' and rebellin', prayin' and despairin', weepin* 
and rejoicin', and goin' from one extreme to t'other till natur* 
gets wearied, and falls asleep Oh I what a life is the poor mother's, 
what a death is the poor darter's ! I don't know whether I pity 
that gal or not ; sometimes I think I do, and then I think I pity 
myself, selfish like, that such a pure spirit should leave the airth, 
for it's sartin she is goin' to a better world; a world better 
fitted for her too, and havin' bein's in it more like herself than 
we be. But, poor mother ! there is no mistake about her ; I do 
pity her from the bottom of my heart. What hopes cut off! 
what aflPections torn down ! fruit, branch, and all, bone of her 
bone, flesh of her flesh, all her care gone, all her wishes closed 
for ever, all her fV:uM come true and sartin (and it 's a great 
matter to lose auytlv. i' we have had trouble with, or anxiety 
about, for we ;:;(.c acrnsiomed to trouble and anxiety, and miss it 
when it 's gon« ), T.ii i there 's the world to come, for the mind 
to go a-wanderia', ai> 1 a spekilatin' in a great sea without shores 
or stars; we have < conpass — that we have faith in J but still 
it 's a fearful voyage- And then there is the world we live in, 
and objects we know to think of ; there is the crawlin' worm and 
the horrid toad, and the shockin' earwig, and vile corruption ; 
and every storm that comes we think that those we loved and 
lost, are exposed to its fury. Oh ! it 's dreadful. I guess them 
wounds ain't never quite cured. Limbs that are cut off still leave 
their feeliriL behind — the foot pains arter the leg is gone. Dreams 
come too, and dreams are alvmys with the dead, as if they were 
livin' . It tante often we dream of the dead as dead, but as livin' 
bein's, for we can't realize death. Then mornin' dawns, and we 
start up in bed, and find it is only a dream, and lam that death 
is a fact, and not fancy. Fev> men know what woman suffers, 
but it 's only God above that knows the sufferings of a mother. 

" It tante every one sees all this, but I see it all as plain as 
preachin' ; I most wish sometimes I didn't. \ know the human 
heart full better than is good for me, I'm a-'limkin'. Let a man 
or woman come and talk to me, or let me w.'j:ch their sayins and 
doins a few minutes, and I'll tell you all about 'em right off as 
easy as big print. I can read 'em like a book, and mind I tell 
you, there's many a shockin' bad book in very elegant gold 
bindin', full of what aint fit to be read ; and there's many a rael 
good work in very mean sheef)skin covers. The most beautiful 
ones is women's. In a gincral way mind I tell you the paper is 




ike, but 
in' and 
1 natur* 
r I pity 
i I pity 
le airth, 
1 better 
elf than 
r ; I do 
cut off! 
; of her 
s closed 
a great 
1 miss it 
he mind 
it shores 
but still 
; live in, 
orm and 
•uption ; 
ved and 
ss them 
till leave 
Dreams . 
hey were 
as livin' 

and we 
at death 


plain as 
! human 

t a itmn 

ins and 
it off as 
nd I tell 
mt gold 
ly a rael 
paper is 

pure white, and what's wrote in it is good penmanship and good 
dictionary. I love *em — no man ever loved dear innocent gals 
as I do, 'cause I know how dear and innocent they be — but man 
— oh ; there is many a black, dirty, nasty horrid sheet in his'n. 
Yes, I know human natur' too much for my own good, I am 
afeerd, sometimes. Such is life in a Waterin' Place, Squire. 
I doTLt like it. The ill make me ill, and the gay don't make me guy 
— that's a fact. I like a place that is pleasant of itself, but nut a 
place where pleasure is a business, and where that pleasure is to be 
looked for among the dyin' and the dead. No, I don't like a 
fVaterin' Plact!" 



*• Squire," said Mr. Slick, " I am afeerd father is a little 
wrong in the head. He goes away by himself and stays all the 
mornin', and when he returns refuses to tell me where he has 
been, and if I go for to press him, he gets as mad as a hatter. He 
has spent a shocking sight of money here. But that aint the 
worst of it nother, he seems to have lost his onderstandin' too. 
He mutters to himself by the hour, and then suddenly springs 
up and struts about the room as proud as a peacock, and sings 
out — ' Clear the way for the Lord !' Sometimes I've thought 
the Irvinites had got hold of him, and sometimes that he is mes- 
merised, and then I'm afeerd some woman or another has got an 
eye on him to marry him. He aint quite himsell, that's sartin. 
The devil take the legation, I say ! I wish in my soul I had 
stayed to Nova Scotia a-vendin' of clocks, and then this poor, 
dear old man wouldn't have gone mad as he has. He came to 
me this mornin', lookin' quite wild, and lockin' the door arter 
him, sot down and stared me in the face for the matter of five 
minutes without speakin' a blessed word, and then bust out 
a-larfin like anythin'. 

" ' Sam,' sais he, * I wish you'd marry.' 

" • Marry,' sais I, * why what on airth do I want of a Wife, 
father V 

" ' I have my reasons. Sir,* sais he, • and that 's enough.' 

" * Well,' sais I, * I have my reasons. Sir, agiu it, anu that 's 
enough. I won't.* 





THE attache; 






"•You won't. Sir?' 

" ' No, Sir, I won't ' 

** • Then I discard you, Sam. You are no longer a son of mine. 
Begone, Sir!' 

'*' Father,' sais I, and I bust out a-ervin', for I couldn't hold 
in no longer—* Father,' sais I, ' dear father, what ails you, — 
what makes you act so like a ravin' distracted bed bug ? I do 
believe in my soul you are possess't. Now do tell me, that's a 
dear, what makes you want me to marry ?' 

*• * Sam,' sais he, • what brought me here, now jist tell me that, 
will you ?' 

•*'Ay, father,' says I, *what did bring you here, for that's 
what I want to know ?' 

" • Guess, Sam,' sais he. 

'* • Well,' sais I, * to see me I s'pose a-movin' in high life.* 

" 'No.' 

'* * Well, to establish a trade in beef onder the new tariff.* 

*• • No.' ' \ 

" * Well, in lard-ile, for that's a great business now.* 

" * No, it 'a none o' these things, so guess agin.' 

"*Well,* sais I, 'Father, I'm most afeerd, tho' I don't 
like to hint it ; but I'm niost afeerd you are a-goin' to spekilate 
in matrimony, seein' that you are a widower now these five years 

" ' Sam,' sais he, ' you are a born fool,' and then risin' 
up quite dignified, * do you think, Sir, I have taken leave of my 



** 'Well,' sais I, ' dear father, I 'm most thiukin' you have, and 
that's a fact.' 

' * ' So you think I 'm mad, do you. Sir V 

" • Well, not 'xactly,' sais I, ' but raelly, now, I don't think 
you are quite right in your mind.' 

" ' You scoundrel, you,' sais he, * do you know who I am V 

" ' Yes, Sir,' sais I, *you are father, at least mother told me 


" * Well, Sir, she told you right, / am your father, and a pretty 
ondutiful son I have, too ; but I don't mean that, do you know 
who I am ?' 

" * Yes, Sir, Lieut.-Col. SUck, of Slickville, the Bunker Hill 

*' • I am, Sir,' sais he, a-drawin' himsoiif up, ' and most the 
only one now livin' that seed that great and glorious battle j but 
do you know what I am ?' 



" * Yes, Sir ; dear old father gone as mad as a March hare.' 

" * You almighty villain,' sais he, * who are you ; do you know 
that ?' 

" • Your sou,' sais I. 

" • Yes, but who are you ?' 

** ' I am Sam Slick, the Clockmaker,' sais I, ' at least what is 
left of me' 

" ' You are no such a thing,' sais he ; • I '11 tell you who I am, 
and what you are. Get up you miserable skunk, and take off 
your hat, clear the way for the Lord. I am the Earl of Tun- 
bridge, and you are Lord Van Shleek, my eldest son. Go down 
on your knees. Sir, and do homage to your father, the Right 
Honourable the Earl of Tunbridge.' ' 

" * Oh, father, father,' sais I, ' my heart is broke, I wish I was 
dead, only to think that you should carry on this way, and so far 
from home, too, and before entire strangers. What on airth put 
that are crotchet into your head V 

" ' Providence, Sam, and the instinct of our Sal. In lookin' 
over our family papers, of father and his father, she found we 
are descendants of General Van Shleek, that came over with 
King William the Dutchman, when he conquered England, and 
was created Airl of Tunbridge, as a reward for his heroic deeds. 
Well, in course, the Van Shleeks came over from Holland and 
settled near him, and my grandfather was a son of the first 
Lord's third brother, and bein' poor, emigrated to America. 
Well, in time the Peerage got dormant for want of an heir, and 
we bein' in America, and our name gettin' altered into Slick, that 
everlastin' tyrant George the Third, gave away the estate to a 
favourite. This, Sir, is as clear as preachiu', and I have come 
ove'* to claim my rights. Do you oiiderstaud that. Sir? you 
degenerate son of a race of heroes ! What made my veins b'ile 
over at Bunker Hill ?— The blood of the Van Shleeks ! What 
made me charge the British at Peach Orchard, and Mud Creek } 
— The blood of the Van Shleeks ! What made me a hero and a 
gentleman .? — The nobility that was in me ! I feel it, 8ir, I feel 
it here,' puttin' his hand on his side, ' I feel it here, beatin' at 
my heart now, old as I am, like a tattoo on a drum. — I am the 
rael A^irl of Tunbridge.' 

" * Oh, dear, dear,' sais I, ' was the hke of this ever heerd tell 
of afore ?' 

" ' Heerd of afore ?' sais he, ' to be sure it has been. America 
was settled by younger sons, and in time all the great estates 
liave come to 'em, but they have been passed over — forgotten — 




unknown — or cheated. Webster, Sir, owns Battle Abbey, and 
is intarmined to have it, and he is a man that knows the law, and 
can plead his own case. There can't be no manner of doubt our 
great author Cooper is the rael Airl of Shaftesbury. A friend of 
mine here, who knows all about estates and titles, told me so him- 
self, and says for five pounds he could put him on the right 
track ; and he is a man can be depended on, for he has helped 
many a feller to his rights. You'd be astonished if you know'd 
how many of our folks are noblemen, or related to 'em very near. 
How can it be otherwise in natur' ? How did they come by the 
same name if they warn't? The matter of five pounds, my 
friend sais, will do a good deal sometimes, provided it 's done 
secret. In all these things, mum 's the word ; — no blartin' — no 
cacklin' afore layin' the egg, but as silent as the grave. Airl of 
Tunbridge ! it don't sound bad, does it?' 

" • Well,' sais I, ' father,' for I found opposite would n't do no 
longer ; — ' well,' sais I, * father, it might be so in your case arter 
all.' '\ 

" * Might be so !' sais he ; ' I tell you it is so.' 

'• * Well, I hope so,' sais I, 'but I feel overcome with the 
news ; s'posiu' we go to bed now, and we will talk it over to- 

*• * Well,' sais he, ' if you can sleep arter this, go to bed, but 
Sam, for Heaven's sake, sleep with General Wellington, and 
talk him over ; I don't care a d — n fo^ the Airl of Tunbridge, 
I want to change it. I want the litle to be Bunker Hill, as 
he is of Waterloo. We are two old veteran heroes, and ought 
to be two great nobs together. Sleep with him, Sam, for Hea- 
T-pvjV -i^e. And now,' sais he, risin', and takin' the candle, 

^oor, Sir, and clear the way for the Lord .' 

I dear ; I am almost crazed myself. Squire — aint it 
^.. a He was evidently very much distressed, I had never 

seen him so much moved before, and therefore endeavoured to 
soothe him as well as I could. 

"Stranger things than that have happened," I said, "Mr. 
Slick. It is possible your father may be right, after all, although 
the proof to substantiate his claim may be unattainable. It is not 
probable, certainly, but it is by no means impossible." 

** Then you think there may be something in it, do you ?" 

" Unquestionably there may be, but I do not think there is." 

"But you think there may be — eh ?" 

" Certainly, there may be." 

After a long pause, he said : " I don't think so either. Squire : 

; i 



I believe it's only his ravin' ; but if there was," striking his fist 
on the table with great energy, •* by the 'tarnal, 1 'U spend every 
cent I have in tlie world, to have my rights. No, there is 
nothin' in it, but if there was, I' d have it if 1 died for it. Airl 
of Tunbridge! well, it aint so coarse, is it? I wonder if the 
ei&te would come back too, for to my mind, a title without the 
rael grit, aint worth much, — is it ? Airl of Tunbridge ! — heavens 
and earth! if I had it, wouldn't I make your fortin, that 's all ; 
I hope I may be shot if I 'd forget old friends. Lord ! I 'd make 
you Governor- Gineral to Canady, for you are jist the boy that 'a 
fit for it — or Lord Nova Scotia; for why shouldn't colonists 
come in for their share of good things as well as these d — ned 
monopolists here ; or anythin' you pleased a'most. Airl of 
Tunbridge! — Oh, it's all nonsense, it can't be true! The old 
man was always mad upon somethin' or another, and now he it, 
mad on this p'int. I must try to drive it out of his head, that 
is, if it hante no bottom ; but if it has, I 'm jist the boy to hang 
on to it, till I get it, that 's a fact. Well, there may be some- 
thin' in it, as you say, arter all. I '11 tell you what, there 's no 
harm in inquirin', at any rate. I '11 look into the story of the 
' Airl of Tunbridge.' " 



As we were sitting on one of the benches in the park at Rich- 
mond to-day, a livery servant passed us, with an air of self-pos- 
session and importance that indicated the easy dependence of his 
condition, and the rank or affluence of his master. 

•' That," said Mr. Slick, " is what I call * a rael English gen- 
tleman,' now. He lives in a grand house, is well clad, well fed ; 
lots of lush to drink, devilish little to do, and no care about corn 
laws, free-trade, blowed-up bankers, run-away lawyers, smashed- 
down tenants, nor nothin'. The mistress is kind to him, 'cause 
he is the son of her old nurse ; and the master is kind to him, 
'cause his father and grandfather lived with his father and grand- 
father ; and the boys are kind to him, 'cause he always takes 
their part ; and the maids are kind to him, 'cause he is a plaguy 
handsome, free and easy feller (and women always like handsum 
men, and impedeut men, though they vow they don't) ; and the 




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butler likes him, 'cause be can drink like a gentleman and never 
get drunk. His master has to attend certain hours in the House 
of Lords : he has to attend certain hours in his master's house. 
There ain't much difference is there ? His master loses his place 
if the Ministry goes out; but he holds on to his'n all the same. 
Which has the best of that ? His master takes the tour of 
Europe, so does he. His master makes all the arrangements 
and pays all the expenses ; he don't do either. Which is master 
or servant here ? His young master falls in love with an Italian 
opera gal, who expects enormous presents from him ; he falls in 
love with the bar-maid, who expects a kiss from li'm. One is 
loved for his money, the other for his good looks. Who is the 
best off? When his master returns, he has lamed where the 
Alps is, and which side of them Rome is ; so has he. Who is 
the most improved ? Whenever it rains, his master sighs for the 
sunny sky of Italy, and quotes Rogers and Byron. He d — ns 
the climate of England in the vernacular tongue, relies on his 
own authority, and at all events is original. The only difference 
is, his master calls the castle my house, he calls it our castle : 
his master says my park, and he says our park. It is more dig- 
nified to use the plural : kings always do ; it 's a royal phrase, 
and he has the advantage here. He is the fust commoner of 
England too. The sarvants* hall is the House of Commons. It 
has its rights and privileges, and is plaguy jealous of them too. 
Let his master give any of them an order out of his line, and see 
how soon he votes it a breach of privilege. Let him order the 
coachman, as the horses are seldom used, to put them to the 
roller and roll the lawn. ' I can't do it. Sir ; I couldn't stand it, 
I should never hear the last of it ; I should be called the rolhn' 
coachman.' The master laughs ; he knows prerogative is dan- 
gerous ground, that an Englishman values Magna Charta, and 
sais, * Very well, tell Farmer Hodge to do it.' If a vine that 
hides part of the gable of a coach-house, busts its bondage, and 
falls trailin' on the ground, he sais, ' John, you have nothin' to 
do, it wouldn't hurt you, when you see such a thing as this 
loose, to nail it up. You see I often do such things myself; I 
am not above it.' ' Ah ! it may do for you, Sir ; you can do it if 
you like, but / can't ; I should lose caste, I should be called the 
gardener's coachman.' * Well, well ! you are a blockhead ; never 

** Look at the lady's-maid ; she is twice as handsum as her 
mistress, because she worked when she was young, had plenty of 
exercise and simple diet, and kept early hours, and is full of 




health and spirits ; she dresses twice as fine, has twice as many 
airs, uses twice as hard words, and is twice as proud too. And 
what has she to do r Her mistress is one of the maids in waitin* 
on the Queen ; she is maid in waitiu' on her mistress. Who has 
to mind her p's and q's most, I wonder ? Her mistress don't 
often speak till she is spoken to in the palace ; she speaks when 
she pleases. Her mistress flatters delicately ; she does the same 
if she chooses, and if not she don't take the trouble. Her mis- 
tress is, expected to be affable to her equals, considerate and kind 
to her inferiors, and humane and charitable to the poor. All 
sorts of things are expected of and from her. But she can 
skrimage with her equals, be sarsy to her inferiors, and scomy 
to the poor if she likes. It is not her duty to do all these 
things, tho' it is her mistress's, and she stands on her rights. 
Her mistress's interest at court is solicited where she can do but 
little at last; the world overvalys it amazin'ly. Her interest 
with her mistress is axed for, where she can do a great deal. 
There is no mistake about that. Her mistress, when on duty, 
sais yes or no, as a matter of course. She can't go wrong if she 
follows the fugleman. There must be but one opinion at the 
palace. The decision of a Queen, like that of a Pope, don't 
admit of no nonconcurrin'. But she can do as she pleases, and 
is equally sartin of success. She cries up her mistress's new 
dress, her looks, her enticin' appearance, her perfect elegance. 
She is agreeable, and a present rewards the m>nest thoughts of 
her simple heart. She disapproves the colour, the texture, the 
becomin'ness of the hA new dress. It don't suit her complexion, 
it don't set well, it don't show off the figure, it 's not fit for her 
lady. She says she raelly thinks so, and she is seldom mistaken. 
The dress is condemned and given to her : she is safe any way. — 
Happy gal! remain as you be, till the butt eend of time: .it's 
hetter to have a mistress than a master. Take a fool's advice for 
oncet, and never marry ; whoever gits you will have his hands 
full in the halter-breakin', I know j who the devil could give you 
a mouth, keep you from shyin', or kiekin', or rearin', or boltin' ? 
A mistress has a light bridle-hand, don't curb up too short, and 
can manage you easy : but a man — Lord a massy ! you'd throw 
him the fust spring and kick you give, and break his neck, I 
know. — Oh, these are the gentlemen and ladies of England ; these 
are the people for whom the upper and lower orders were born — 
one to find money and the other to work for 'em. Next to bein* 
the duke, I'd sooner be coachman to a gentleman that sports a 
four-ia-haud than any thin' I know of to England : four spaukin'. 





sneezin' bosses that knows how to pick up miles and throw 'em 
behind 'em in style — g'long you skunks, and turn out your toea 
pretty — whist — that's the ticket ; — streak it off like 'iled light- 
ning, my fox-tails : skrew it up tight, lock down the safety- 
valve, and clap all steam on, my busters ; don't touch the ground, 
jist skim it like hawks, and leave no trail ; go a-head handsum, 
my old clays : yes I the sarvants are the ' Gentlemen of Eng- 
land/ they live like fightin' cocks, and yet you hear them 
infarnal rascals, the Radicals, callin' these indulgent masters 
tyrants, endeavourin' to make these happy critturs hate the hand 
that feeds them, telling these pampered gentlemen they are robbed 
of their rights, and how happy they *d all be if they lost their 
places, and only had vote by ballot and universal suffrage. What 
everlastin' d — d rascals they must be !'* 

** Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, " I am surprised at you. I am 
shocked to hear you talk that way ; how often must I reprove 
you for swearing ?" 

" Well, it 's enough to make a feller swear, to find critturs 
fools enough, rogues enough, and wicked enough, to cut apart 
nateral ties, to preach family treason, ill-will and hatred among 


" Nothing is so bad, Sam," he replied, " as to justify swearing. 
Before we attempt to reform others, we had better reform our- 
selves ; a piofane man is a poor preacher of morality." 

" I know it is a foolish practice. Minister," said Mr. Slick, 
"and I've ginn it over this good while. I've never swore 
scarcely since I heard that story of the Governor to Nova Scotia. 
One of their Governors was a military man, a fine, kind-hearted, 
generous old veteran as ever was, but he swore, every few words 
he said, like anythin' ; not profane-like or cross, but jist a handy 
sort, of good-humoured oath. He kinder couldn't help it. 

" One day on board the steam-boat a-crossing the harbour to 
Dartmouth, I heerd the Squire here say to him, ' We ought to 
have another church to Halifax, Sir Thomas,' sais he, * some- 
where in the neighbourhood of Government House. St. Paul's 
is not half large enough for the congregation.' * So I think,' 
sais the Governor, ' and I told the Bishop so ; but the Bishop 
gais to me, — I know that d — d well. Sir Thomas, but where the 
devil is the money to come from ? If I could find the means, by 
G — d you should soon have a church.' 

" He never could tell a story without puttin' an oath into every 
one's mouth, whether it was a bishop or any one else. But oath 
or no oath, he was a good old man that, and he was liked by every 





man in the province, except by them it's no great credit to be 
praised by." 

" Your apologies, Sam," he said, " seldom mend the matter. 
Reproving you makes you offend more ; it is like interrupting a 
man in speaking who wanders from his point, or who is arguing 
wrong ; you only lose time, for he speaks longer than he other- 
wise would. I won't reprove, therefore, but I ask your forbear- 
ance as a favour. Yes, I agree with you as to servants here, — I 
like the relative condition of master and servant in this country. 
There is something to an American or a colonist quite touching 
in it — it is a sort of patriarchal tie. But alas ! I fear it is not 
what it was ; as you say, the poison diffused through the country 
by reformers and radicals has done its work ; it has weakened 
the attachment of the servant to his master; it has created 
mutual distrust, and dissolved in a great measure what I may call 
the family tie between them. Enfeebled and diluted, however, 
as the feeling is in general, it is still so different from what exists 
among us, that there is no one thing whatever that has come 
under my observation that has given me so much gratification as 
the relation of master and servant — the kindness and paternal 
regard of the one, and the affectionate and respectful attachment 
of the other. I do not say in all cases, because it is going out ; 
it is not to be found among the mushroom rich — the cotton lords 
the novi homines, et hoc genus omne ; — but among the nobility and 
the old gentry, and some families of the middle classes, it is still 
to be found in a form that cannot be contemplated by a philan- 
thropist without great satisfaction. In many cases the servants 
have been born on the estates, and their forefathers have held 
the same situation in the family of their master's ancestors as 
they do. 

•* Their interests, their traditions, their feelings, and sympa- 
thies are identified with those of the * house.' They participate 
in their master's honours, they are jealous in supporting his rank, 
as if it was in part their own, and they feel that their advance- 
ment is connected with his promotion. They form a class — from 
that class they do not expect or desire to be removed. Their 
hopes and aflfections, therefore, are blended with those of their 
employers. With us it is always a temporary engagement — 
hope looks beyond it, and economy furnishes the means of extri- 
cation. It is like a builder's contract : he furnishes you with 
certain work — you pay a certain stipulated price ; when the 
engagement is fulfilled, you have nothing further to say to eacl^ 
other. There is no favour conferred on either side. 






"Punctuality, and not thanks are expected. It is a cold and 
mercenary bargain, in which there is a constant struggle ; on one 
side to repress the advance of familiarity, and on the other to 
resist the encroachments of pride. The market price only is 
given by the master, and of course the least service returned, that 
is compatible with the terms of the bargain. The supply does 
not equal the demand, and the quahty of the article does not 
correspond with the price. Those who have been servants 
seldom look back with complacency on their former masters. 
They feel no gratitude to them for having furnished them with 
the means of succeeding in the world, but they regard them with 
dislike, because they are possessed of a secret which they would 
have to be forgotten by all, — that they once were household 

" As our population becomes more dense, this peculiarity will 
disappear, and the relation will naturally more nearly resemble 
that which exists in Europe. There has already been a decided 
improvement within the last twenty years from this cause. Yes I 
I like the relative condition of master and servant here amazingly 
— the kindness, mildness, indulgence and exactness of the master, 
— the cheerfulness, respectfulness, punctuality and regard of the 
servant, — the strength, the durability, and the nature of the 
connexion. x\s I said before, there is a patriarchal feeling about 
it that touches me. I love them both." 

"Well, so do I too," said Mr. Slick, ''it 's a great comfort is 
a good help that onderstands his work and does it, and ain't 
above it. I must say T don't like to see a crittur sit down when 
I'm at dinner, and read the paper, like a Varmonter we had 
oncet. When father asked him to change a plate — 'Squire,' 
sais he, * I came as a help, not as a sarvant ; if you want one 
o' them, get a Britisher, or a nigger. I reckon I am a free and 
enlightened citizen, as good as you be. Sarvants are critturs 
that don't grow in our backwoods, and if you take me for one 
you are mistaken in this, child, that's all. If you want me to 
work, I'll work ; if you want me to wait on you, you'll wait for 
me a long time fust, I calkelate.' No, Squire, we hante got no 
sarvants, we 've only got helps. The British have got sarvants, 
and then they are a 'nation sight beUer than helps, tho' they are 
a little proud and sarsy sometiines, but I don't wonder, for they 
fire actilly the Gentlemen of England, that's a fact.'* 



""'"" ■,: . f («.'■■< '*■ 






'*Yes," said Mr. Slick, pursuing the same subjeef of con- 
versation ; " I like the English sarvant. Sarvice is a trade here, 
and a house-help sarves an apprenticeship to it, is master of his 
work, and onderstands his business. He don't feel kinder 
degraded by it, and ain't therefore above it. Nothin* ain't so 
bad as a crittur bein' above his business. He is a part of his 
master here. Among other folks' sarvants he takes his master's 
title. See these two fellers meet now, and hear them. — ' Ah, 
Lothian ! how are you V * All right ; how are you, Douro ? It 's 
an age since I saw you.' Ain't that droll now? A cotton- 
spinner's sarvant is a snob to these folks. He ain't a man of 
fashion. They don't know him — he uses a tallow candle, and 
drinks beer ; he aint a fit associate for one who uses a wax, and 
drinks wine. They have their rank and position in society as 
well as their masters, them fellers ; and to my mind they are the 
best off of the two, for they have no care. Yes, they are far 
above our helps, I must say ; but their misfortunate niggers here 
are a long chalk below our slaves to the gouth, and the cotton- 
manufacturers are a thousand times harder task-masters than our 
cotton planters, that 's a fact." 

*' Negroes !" I said in some astonishment ; " why, surely you 
are aware we have emancipated our negroes. We have no 

"Come, Squire," said he, "now don't git your back up with 
me; but for goodness gracious sake never say we. It would 
make folks snicker here to hear you say that. It's as bad as a 
sarvant sayin' ' our castle' — * our park' — • our pictur' gallery,' 
and so on. What right have you to say * We ?' You ain't an 
Englishman, and old Bull won't thank you for your familiarity, 
I know. You had better say, * Our army,' tho' you have nothin' 
to do with it ; or * our navy,' tho' you form no part of it ; or 
* our House of Lords,' and you can't boast one Lord ; or * our 
House of Commons,' and you hante a single blessed member 
there ; or ' our authors,' — well, p'raps you may say that, because 
you are an exception : but the only reason you warn't shot, was, 
that you was the fust colonial bird that fiew across the Atlantic, 




and you was saved as a curiosity, and will be stuffed some day 
or another, and stuck up in a museum. The next one will be 
pinked, for fear he should cross the breed. — * Our !' heavens and 
airth ! I wonder you hante too much pride to say that ; it 's too 
sarvanty for the like o* you. How can you call yourself a part 
of ap empire, in the government of which you have no voice ? — 
from whose honours you are excluded, from whose sarvice you 
are shut out ? — by whom you are looked on as a consumer of 
iron and cotton goods, as a hewer of wood for the timber market, 
a curer of fish to freight their vessels — as worth havin', because 
you afford a station for an admiral, a place for a governor, a 
command for a gineral ; because, like the stone steps to a hall 
door, you enable others to rise, but never move yourselves. 

* Our !' It makes me curl inwardly to hear you use that word 

* Our.' I '11 tell you what a colonial ' Our' is. I '11 tell you 
what awaits you : in the process of a few years, after your death, 
all your family will probably sink into the class of labourers. 
Some on 'em may struggle on for a while, and maintain the 
position you have ; but it won't be long. Down, down, down 
they must go ; rise they never can. It is as impossible for a 
colonist to rise above the surface, as for a stone to float on a 
river. Every one knows this but yourself, and that is the reason 
gentlemen will not go and live among you. They lose caste — 
they descend on the scale of life — they cease to be Romans. Din 
this for ever in the ears of British statesmen : tell them to make 
you Englishmen, or to give you a Royal Prince for a King, and 
make you a new people. But that to be made fun of by the 
Yankees, to be looked down upon by the English, and to be 
despised by yourselves, is a condition that you only desarve as 
long as you tolerate it. No, don't use that word ' Our' till you 
are entitled to it. Be formal, and everlastin' polite. Say ' your' 
empire, *your' army, &c. ; and never strut under borrowed 
feathers, and say * our,' till you can point to your own members 
in both houses of Parliament — to your own countrymen fillin' 
such posts in the imperial sarvice as they are qualified for by 
their talents, or entitled to in right of the population they 
represent ; and if anybody is struck up of a heap by your sayin' 

* yours' instead of • ours,' tell them the reason ; say — that was 
a lesson I learnt from Sam Slick, the clockniaker ; and one 
thing is sartin, to give the devil his due, that feller was * no 
fool,' at any rate. But to git back to what we was a-talkin' of. 
We have two kinds of niggers in the States — free niggers and 
slaves. In the north they are all free, in the south all in 



e reason 

caste — 

s. Din 

o make 

g, and 

by the 

to be 

arve as 

ill vou 

* your' 




for by 

I they 


at was 

d one 

s 'no 

in' of. 

s and 

all in 

bondage. Now the free nigger may be a member of Congress, 
but he can't get there ; he may be President, but he guesses he 
can't ; and he reckons right. He may niarrv Tyler's darter, but 
she won't have him ; he may be embassador to the Court of 
St. James's, Victoria, if he could be only appointed ; or he may 
command the army or the navy if they d only let him — that 'a 
his condition. The slave is a slave, and that's his condition. 
Now the English have two sorts of niggers — American colonists, 
who are free white niggers; and manufacturers' labourers at 
home, and they are white slave niggers. A white colonist, like 
our free black nigger, may be a member of Parliament, but he 
can't get there ; he may he a governor, but he guesses he can't, 
and he guesses right ; he may marry an English nobleman's 
darter, if she'd only have him ; he may he an embassador to our 
Court at Washington, if he could be only appointed ; he may 
command the army or the fleet, if he had the commission ; and 
that *s his condition. — A colonist and a free nigger don't differ 
in auythin' but color : both have naked rights, but they have no 
power given 'em to clothe those rights, and that *s the naked 

•' Your blockheads of Liberals to Canada, are for ever yelpin' 
about 'sponsible government ; if it was all they think it is, what 
would be the good of it? Now, I'll tell you the remedy. 
Don't repeal the Union, lay down your life fust, but have a 
closer union. Let 'em form a Colonial council board to Loudon, 
and appoint some colonists to it, that they may foel they have 
some voice in the government of the empire. Let 'em raise 
provincial regiments, and officer them with natives, that you nuiy 
have sornethin' to do with the armv. Let 'cm have some man- 
of- war devoted ta Colony offices, that you may have sol;:' hm' 
to do with the navy. All you've got in that line is a miseiable 
little cutter, paid by yourselves, coiunianded by one of ) ourv^elves, 
Captain Darby : and he has sot a proper pattern to your navy. 
He has seized more Yankee vessels in the last seven years for 
breakin' the fish treaty, than all the admirals and all the 
squadrons on the American coast has, put together twice over. 
He and his vessel costs you a few hundred a-year ; them fleets 
durin' that time has cost more nor all Hulifux would sell for 
to-morrow, if put up to vandu. He desarves a foaUier in his 
cap from your Government, which he won't get, and a tar-jacket 
covered with feathers from us, which he is very likely to get. 
Yes, have some man-o'-war there with colony officers like him, 
tlieu say * our navy,' if you like. Remove the restrictious on 

B B 





colonial clergy, so that if they desarve promotion in the church 
to Britain, they needn't be shut out among big bogs, black logs, 
and thick fogs, for ever and ever ; and then it tante the Church 
of England, but *our church.' If there is a feller everlastin' 
strong in a colony, don't make it his interest to wrastle with a 
Governor ; but send him to another province, and make him one 
himself. Let 'era have a Member to Parliament, and he will be 
a safety valve to let off steam. It's then 'our Parliament.* 
Open the door to youngsters, and let 'era see stars, ribbons, 
garters, coronets, and all a-hangin' up agin the wall, and when 
their mouths water, and they lick their chops as if they 'd like 
a taste of them, then say, — ' Now d — n you, go a-head and win 
'em, and if you win the race you shall have 'em, and if you lose, 
turn to, import some gentlemen and improve the breed, and mind 
your trainin', and try agin ; all you got to do, is to win. Go 
a-head, I '11 bet on you, if you try. Let * death or victory' be 
your colony motto — Westminster Abbey or the House of Lords. 
Go a-head, my young 'coons, wake snakes, and walk your chalks, 
streak it off like 'iled lightenin', and whoever gets in first, wins. 
Yes, that 's the remedy. But now they have no chance. 

" Now, as to the manufacturin' slave, let's look at the poor 
devil, for I pity him, and 1 despise and hate his double-faced, 
iron-hearted, radical, villanous, low-bred, tyrant, of a master, as 
I do a rattlesnake. Oh ! he is different from all the sarvants in 
England; all other sarvants are well off — most too well off, if 

■^ anythin', for they are pampered. But these poor critturs ! oh ! 

•^' their lot is a hard one — not from the Corn-laws, as their Radical 
employers tell 'em — not because they have not univarsal suffrage, 
aaridlemagogues tell 'em — nor because there are Bishops who wear 
lawn sleeves instead of cotton ones, as the Dissenters tell 'em — 
but because there is a law of natur' violated in their case. The 
hawk, the shark, and the tiger ; the bird, the fish, and the 
beast, even the reasonin' brute, man, each and all feed, nurture, 
and protect, those they spawn, hatch, or breed. It's a law 
written in the works of God. They have it in instinct, and find 
it in reason, and necessity and affection are its roots and foun- 
dation. The manufacturer alone obeys no instinct, won't listen 
to no reason, don't see no necessity, and hante got no affections. 
He calls together the poor, and gives them artificial powers, 
unfits them for all other pursuits, works them to their utmost, 
fobs all the profits of their labour, and when he is too rich and 
too proud to progress, or when bad spekelations has ruined him, 
he desarts these unfortunate wretches whom he has created. 

k logs, 

with a 
lim one 

will be 
id when 
and win 
ou lose, 
[id mind 
in. Go 
;tory' be 
f Lords. 
r chalks, 
it, wins. 

the poor 
laster, as 
rvants in 
11 off. if 
irs ! oh ! 
vho wear 
ill 'em— 
e. The 
and the 
9 a law 
and find 
ad foun- 
't listen 
Irich and 
led him, 

' I 



used up, and ruined, and leaves them to God and their country 
to provide for. Hut that ain't all nother, he first sots them agin the 
House of God and his Ministers, (tiie only Church, too, in the 
whole world, that is the Church of the poor — the Church of 
England, the fust duty of which is to provide for the instruction 
of the poor at the expense of the rich,) and then he sots them 
agin the farmer, who at last has to feed and provide for them in 
their day of trouble. What a horrid system 1 he first starves 
their bodies, and then p'isens their minds — he ruins them, body 
and soul. Guess, I needn't tell you, what this gony is? — he is 
a Liberal ; he is rich, and hates those that are richer ; he is 
proud, and hates those of superior station. His means are 
beyond his rank ; his education and brecdin' is below that of 
the aristocracy. He ain't satisfied with his own position, for he 
is able to vie with his superiors ; he is dissatisfied with theirs 
because he can't come it. He is ashamed to own this, his real 
motive, he therefore calls in principle to his aid. He is then, 
from principle, a Reformer, and under that pretty word does all 
the mischief to society he can. 

"Then comes to his aid, for figures of speech, the bread 
of the poor, the starvin' man's loaf, the widder's mite, the 
orphan's mouldy crust. If he lowers the price of corn, he lowers 
wages. If he lowers wages, he curtails his annual outlay ; the 
poor is made poorer, but the unfortunate wretch is too ignorant to 
know this. He is made richer himself, and he is wide awake. 
It won't do to say all this, so he ups with his speakin' trumpet, 
and hails principle agin to convoy him. He is an Anti-Corn- 
Law leaguer on principle, he is agin agricultural monopoly, the 
protective system, the landed gentry. He is the friend of the 
poor. "What a super-superior villain he is ! — he first cheats and 
then mocks the poor, and jist ups and asks the blessin' of God 
on his enterprise, by the aid of fanatical, furious and seditious 
strollin' preachers. Did you ever hear the like of that. Squire?" 

" Never," I said, " but once." 

"And when was that?" 

" Never mind — go on with your description ; you are eloquent 

" No ; I wont go on one single blessed step if you don't tell 
me, — it 's some fling at us I know, or you wouldn't hum and 
haw that way. Now, come out with it — I'll give you as good as 
you send, I know. What did you ever know equal to that ?" 

" I knew your Government maintain lately, that on the high 
seas the flag of lHjeriy should protect a cargo of slaves. It just 

BB 2 




occurred to me, that liberty at the mast-head, and slavery in the 
hold, resembled the conduct of the manufacturer, who, while he 
oppressed the poor, affected to be devoted to their cause." 

" I thought so. Squire, but you missed the mark that time, so 
clap in another ball, and try your hand agin. The Prince de 
Joinville boarded one o' your gun brigs not long ago (mind you, 
not a tradin' vessel, but a man-o*-war) and took her pilot out of 
her to steer his ship. Now if your naval man had a-seized the 
French officer by tne cape of his coat with one hand, and the 
seat of his breeches with the other, and chucked him head and 
heels overboard, and taught him the new game of leap Frog, as he 
had ought to have done, you'd a know'd a little better than to ax us 
to let your folks board our vessels. It don't become you British to 
talk about right o' sarch arter that. I guess we are even now — ain't 
we ? Yes, I pity these poor ignorant devils, the English niggers, 
I do from my soul. If our slaves are old or infirm, or ill, their 
master keeps them, and keeps them kindly too. It is both his 
interest to take care of their health, and his duty to provide for 
'em if ill. He knows his niggers, and they know him. They 
don't work like a white man. They know they must be fed, 
whether they work or not. "White niggers know they must 
starve if they don't. Our fellers dance and sing like crickets. 
Your fellers' hearts is too heavy to sing, and their limbs too 
tired to dance. A common interest binds our master and 
slave. There is no tie between the English factor and his nigger. 
He don't know his men by sight — they don't know him but by 
name. Our folks are and must be kind. Yours ain't, and 
needn't be. They pretend then, and in that pretence become 
powerful, 'cause they have the masses with them. Cunnin' as 
foxes them critters, too. They know some one would take up the 
cause of them niggers, and therefore they put them on a false 
scent — pretend to fight their battles and, instead of waitin' to be 
attacked, fall to and attack the poor farmer ; while the owners of 
England, therefore, are a-defendin' of themselves from the onjust 
charge of oppressin' the poor, these critturs are plunderin' the 
poor like winky. Ah! Squire, they want protectin' — there 
should be cruisers sent into those manufacturin' seas. The 
hulks there are under your own flag — board them — examine 
them. If the thumb-screws are there, tuck up some of the 
cotton Lords with their own cotton ropes — that 's the 
ticket. Sir, ventilate the ships — see the owners have laid in 
a good stock of provisions for a long voyage, that the critturs 
ain't too crowded, that they have prayers every Sunday." 

in the 
lile he 

me, BO 
nee de 
(1 you, 
out of 
ed the 
ind the 
id and 
f, as he 
o ax us 
itish to 
— ain't 
I, their 
oth his 
ride for 
be fed, 
y must 
abs too 
ber and 
but by 
t, and 
anin' as 
up the 
a false 
' to be 
trners of 
rin* the 
— there 
of the 
*s the 
laid in 



*• Very good, Sam," said Mr. Hopewell ; " your heart N in 
the right place, Sam. I like to hear you talk that way ; and let 
the chaplain not be the barber or shoemaker, but a learned, 
pious, loyal man of the Church of England ; let him " 

** I^et them," said Mr. Slick, " tnke care no crittur talks 
mutinous to them — no chartism — no radicalism — no agitation — 
no setlin* of them agin' their real friends, and p'isonin' of their 
minds. If there is any chaps a doin' of this, up with them in a 
minute, and let the boatswain lay three dozen into 'em, in rael 
wide awake airnest ; and while they are in hospital, get some of 
the cheap bread they talk so much about. (Did you ever see it. 
Squire? It's as black as if it had dropt into a dye-tub — as 
coarse as sawdust — so hard, mould can't grow over it, and so 
infarnal poor, insects can't eat it.) Yes, send to the Baltic for 
this elegant cheap bread — this wonderful blessin' — this cure for 
all evils, and make 'em eat it till their backs is cured. Tell old 
Joe Sturge to look to home afore he talks of the States ; for 
slave ships ain't one mossel wuss than some of the factories under 
his own nose. 

" Ah ! Squire, Peel has a long head, Muntz has a long beard, 
and John Russell has a cussed long tongue ; but head, tongue, 
and beard, put together, ain't all that's wanted. There wants a 
heart to feel, a head to conceive, and a resolution to execute, the 

grotection for these poor people. It ain't cheap bread, nor 
allot, nor reform* nor chartism, nor free-trade, nor repealin' 
unions, nor such nonsense, that they want. When a man collects 
a multitude of human bein's together, and founds a factory, the 
safety of the country and the interests of humanity require there 
should be some security taken for the protection of the misfortu- 
nate 'English Niggers.' " > 



Mr. Hopewell, who was much struck with the Attache's 
remarks in the last chapter, especially those in reference to the 
colonies, pursued the same subject again to-day. 

" Squire," said he, " if Great Britain should withdraw her 
protection from the North American provinces, as I fear she will 
at no distant period, would they form a separate nation, or be- 
come incorporated with us ? This is a serious question, and one 



that should be well considered. There is a kindness, and yet a 
perverseness, about English rule in America, that is perfectly 
astonishing. Their liberality is unbounded, and their indulgence 
unexampled ; but there is a total absence of political sagacity, no 
settled principles of Colonial Government, and no firmness and 
decision whatever. The result cannot be but most disastrous. 
They seem to forget that the provinces are parts of a monarchy ; 
and instead of fostering monarchical principles, every step they 
take tends not only to weaken them, but to manifest a decided 
preference for republican ones. Demagogues discovering this 
weakness and vacillation of their rulers, have found by experience, 
that agitation is always succjessful ; that measures of concession 
or conciliation are the sure and certain fruits of turbulence ; and 
that, as loyalty can always be depended upon, its claims a#e sure 
to be sacrificed to those whose adhesion it is necessary to pur- 
chase. To satisfy these democrats, and to gratify their ambition^ 
the upper houses of the legislature have been rendered a mere 
nullity ; while the popular branches have encroached in such k 
manner upon the executive, as to render the Governor little more 
than a choice of being the intriguing head, or the degraded tool 
of a party. If they succeed' in the present struggle in Canada, 
he will be virtually superseded ; the real governor will be the 
leading demagogue, and the nominal one will have but two duties 
left to fulfil, namely, to keep a good table for the entertainment 
of his masters, and to affix his name to such documents as may 
be prepared and presented for his signature. Rebellion will then 
have obtained a bloodless victory, and the colonies will be inde- 

" D— n them !" said Colonel Slick ; '* they don't desarve to 
be free. Why don't they disguise themselves as Indgins, as we 
did, and go down to the wharf, board the cutter, and throw the 
tea into the harbour, as we did? Creation! man, they don't 
desarve to be free, the cowards ! they want to be independent, 
and they darsn't say so." — And he went out of the room, mutter- 
ing, " that there never was, and never could be, but one Bunker 

" Tie loyal, the right-minded British party in the colonies," 
continued Mr. Hopewell, " are discouraged and disheartened by 
the countenance and protection shown to these unprincipled 
agitators. These are things obvious to all the world ; but there 
are other causes in operation which require local experience and 
a knowledge of the human mind to appreciate properly. Great 
Britain is a trading country, and values everything by dollars and 




do : but there 


cents, as mucn as we ao ; Dut tnere are some 
reach of money. English statesmen flatter themselves that if 
the^ abstain from taxing the colonies, if they defend them by 
their fleets and armies, expend large sums on canals and rail- 
roads, and impose no part of the burden of the national debt 
upon them, they will necessarily appreciate the advantages of 
such a happy condition ; and, in contrasting it veith that of the 
heavy public exactions in the States, feel that it is both their 
duty and their interest to be quiet. 

*' These are sordid considerations, and worthy of the counting- 
house in which Poulett Thompson learned his first lessons in 
political economy. Most colonists are native-bom British sub- 
jects, and have, together with British prejudices, British pride 
also. They feel that they are to the English what the English 
are to the Chinese, outer barbarians. They observe, with pain 
and mortification, that much of the little local patronage is re- 
served for Europeans ; that when natives are appointed to office 
by the Governor, in many cases they have hardly entered upon 
their duties, when they are superseded by persons sent from this 
side of the water, so vastly inferior to themselves in point of 
ability and moral character, that they feel the injury they have 
sustained is accompanied by an insult to the community. The 
numerous instances you have mentioned to me in the Customs 
Department, to which I think you said Nova Scotia paid eight 
thousand pounds a-year, fully justify this remark, and some other 
flagrant instances of late in the Post-office, you admit have been 
keenly felt from one end of your province to the other. While 
deprived of a part of the little patronage at home, there is no 
external field for them whatever. It would be a tedious story to 
enter into details, and tell you how it arises, but so it is, the 
imperial service is practically closed to them. The remedy just 
proposed by Sam is the true one. They feel that they are sur- 
rounded by their superiors, not in talent or education, but by 
those who are superior to them in interest —that they present a 
field for promotion to others, but have none for themselves. As 
time rolls on in its rapid but noiseless course, they have opportu- 
nities offered to them to measure their condition with others. 
To-day the little unfledged ensign sports among them for the 
first time, in awkward consciousness, his new regimentals, passes 
away to other colonies, in his tour of duty ; and while the recol- 
lection of the rosy boy is yet fresh in their memories, he returns, 
to their amazement, in command of a regiment. The same 
circle is agi n described, and the General commanding the force 





THE attache; 

receives the congratulations of his early friends. The wheel of 
fortune again revolves, and the ensign ripens into a governor. 
Five years of Gubernatorial service in a colony are reckoned five 
years of exile among the barbarians, and amount to a claim for 
further promotion. He is followed by the aifectionate regard of 
those among whom he Kved into his new sphere of duty, and in 
five years more he informs them he is again advanced to further 
honours. A colonist naturally asks himself, how is this ? When 
I first knew these men I was toiling on in my present narrow 
sphere ; they stopped and smiled, or pitied my humble labours, 
and passed on, sure of success ; while here I am in the same 
position, not only without a hope but without a possibility of 
rising in the world ; and yet who and what are they ? I have 
seen them, heard them, conversed with them, studied them, and 
compared them with ourselves. I find most of us equal in infor- 
mation and abilities, and some infinitely superior to them. Why 
is this? Their tone and manner pain me too. They are not 
rude, but their manner is supercilious ; they do not intentionally 
oflFend, but it would seem as if they could not avoid it. My 
country is spoken of as their exile, their sojourn as a page of life 
obliterated, the society as by no means so bad as they had heard, 
but possessing no attractions for a gentleman, the day of depar- 
ture is regarded as release from prison, and the hope expressed 
that this * Foreign Service' will be rewarded as it deserves. All 
that they feel and express on this subject is unhappily too true. 
It is no place for a gentleman. The pestilential blasts of demo- 
cracy, and the cold and chilly winds from Downing Street, have 
engendered an atmosphere so uncongenial to a gentleman, that 
he feels be cannot live here. Yes ! it is too true, the race will 
soon become extinct. 

" Why, then, is the door of promotion not open to me also,'* 
he inquires, " as it is the only hope left to me. Talk not to me 
of light taxes, I despise your money ; or of the favour of defend- 
ing me, I can defend myself. 1, too, have the ambition to com- 
mand, as well as the forbearance to obey. Talk of free trade to 
traders, but of honourable competition in the departments of 
state to gentlemen. Open your Senate to us, and receive our 
representatives. Select some of our ablest men for governors of 
other colonies, and not condemn us to be always governed. It 
can be no honour to a people to be a part of your empire, if they 
are excluded from all honour ; even bondsmen sometimes merit 
and receive their manumission. May not a colonist receive that 
advancement to which he is entitled by his talents, his public 



services, or his devotion to your cause ? No one doubts your 
justice — the name of an Englishman is a guarantee for that : but 
we have not the same confidence in your information as to our 
condition. Read history and learn ! In the late rebellion, Sir 
John Colbourne commanded two or three regiments of British 
troops. Wherever they were detached they behaved as British 
soldiers do upon all occasions, with great gallantry and with great 
skill. His arrangements were judicious, and upon two or three 
occasions where he attacked some small bodies of rebels he re- 
pulsed or dispersed them. He was acting in the line of his 
profession, and he performed a duty for which he was paid by 
his country. He was rewarded with the thanks of Parliament, a 
peerage, a pension, and a government. A colonist at the same 
time raised a body of volunteers from an irregular and undisci- 
plined militia, by the weight of his personal character and 
influence, and with prodigious exertion and fatigue traversed the 
upper province, awakened the energies of the people, and drove 
out of the country both native rebels and foreign sympathizers. 
He saved the colony. He was not acting in the line of his profes- 
sion, nor discharging a duty for which he was paid by his 
country. He was rewarded by a reluctant and barren grant of 
knighthood. Don't misunderstand me : I have no intention 
whatever of undervaluing the services of that excellent man and 
distinguished officer. Sir John Colbourne ; he earned and de- 
served his reward ; but what I mean to say is, the colonist has 
not had the reward that he earned and deserved — * Ex uno disce 

" The American Revolution has shown you that colonists can 
furnish both generals and statesmen; take care and encourage 
their most anxious desire to furnish them to you, and do not 
drive them to act against you. Yet then, as now, you thought 
them incapable of any command ; we have had and still have 
men of the same stamp ; our cemeteries suggest the same re- 
flections as your own. The moralist often says : — 

' Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid. 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

* The applause of listening senates to command ; 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise ; 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes. 

' Their lot forbad.—' 



THE attache; 

" Whether the lot of the present generation will also forbid it, 
you must decide — or circumstances may decide it for you. Yes, 
Squire, this is an important subject, and one that I have often 
mentioned to you. Instead of fostering men of talent, and en- 
deavouring to raise an order of superior men in the country, so 
that in them the aristocratic feeling which is so peculiarly mo- 
narchical may take root and flourish ; Government has repressed 
them, sacrificed them to demagogues, and reduced the salaries of 
all official men to that degree, that but suited the ravenous envy 
of democracy. Instead of building up the second branch, and 
the order that is to furnish and support it, everything has been 
done to lower and to break it. In proportion as they are dimi- 
nished, the demagogue rises, when he in his turn will find the 
field too limited, and the reward too small ; and, unrestrained by 
moral or religious feeling, having no principles to guide, and no 
honour to influence him, he will draw the sword as he has done, 
and always will do, when it suits his views, knowing how great 
the plunder will be if he succeeds, and how certain his pardon 
will be if he fails. He has literally everything to gain and 
nothing to lose in his struggle for ' Independence.' " 



To-day Mr. Slick visited me as usual, but I was struck with 
astonishment at the great alteration in his dress and manner — I 
scarcely knew him at first, the metamorphosis was so great. He 
had shaved off his moustache and imperial, and from having 
worn those military appendages so long, the skin they had 
covered not being equally exposed to the influence of the sim as 
other parts of his face, looked as white as if it had been painted. 
His hair was out of curl, the diamond brooch had disappeared 
from his bosom, the gold chain from his neck, and the brilliant 
from his finger. His attire was like that of other people, and, 
with the exception of being better made, not unlike what he had 
worn in Nova Scotia. In short, he looked like himself once 

" Squire," said he, *' do you know who I am ?" 
*' Certainly ; who does not know you } for you may well say, 
* not to know me, argues thyself unknown.' " 



** Aye, but do you know what I am ?" 

"An Attache," I said. 

"Well, I ain't, I've given that up — I've resigned — I ain't no 
longer an Attache ; I'm Sam Slick, the clockmaker, agin — at 
least what's left of me. I've recovered my eyesight — I can see 
without glasses now. You and Minister have opened my eyes, 
and what you couldn't do, father has done. Father was madder 
nor me by a long chalk. I've been a fool, that's a fact. I've 
had my head turned ; but, thank fortin', I've got it straight 
agin. I should like to see the man now that would pull the wool 
over my eyes. I've been made a tiger and " 

" Lion you mean, a tiger is a term applied to — ^'* 

" Exactly, so it is ; I meant a lion. I've been made a lion of, and 
makin' a lion of a man is plaguy apt to make a fool of a feller, I 
can tell you. To be asked here, and asked there, and introduced to 
this one, and introduced to that one, and petted and flattered, and 
made much of, and have all eyes on you, and wherever you go," 
hear a whisperin' click with the last letters of your name — ick — 
lick — Slick — accordin' as you catch a part or a whole of the 
word ; to have fellers listen to you to hear you talk, to see the 
papers full of your name, and whenever you go, or stay, or 
return, to have your motions printed. The celebrated Sam Slick 
— the popular Mr. Slick — the immortal Clockmaker — that dis- 
tinguished moralist and humourist — that great judge of human 
natur', Mr. Slick ; or to see your phiz in a winder of a piint- 
shop, or in a wood-cut in a picturesque paper, or an engine on a 
railroad called arter you ; or a yacht, or vessel, or racehorse called 
Sam Slick. Well, it's enough to make one a little grain con- 
saited, or to carry his head high, as a feller I oncet knew to 
Slickville, who was so everlastin' consaited, and cocked his chin 
up so, he walked right off the eend of a wharf without seein' the 
water, and was near about drowned, and sp'iled all his bran new 
clothes. Yes, I've had my head turned a bit, and no mistake, 
but it hante been long. I know human natur', and read the 
human heart too easy, to bark long up a wrong tree. I soon 
twigged the secret. One wanted to see me, whether I was black 
or white ; another wanted to brag that I dined with 'em ; a 
third wanted me as a decoy bird to their table, to entice others to 
come ; a fourth, 'cause they made a p'int of bavin' distinguished 
people at their house ; a fifth, 'cause they sot up for patrons of lite- 
rary men ; a sixth, 'cause they wanted colony politics ; a seventh, 
'cause it give 'em something to talk of. But who wanted me for 
myself? Sam Slick, a mechanic, a retail travellin' trader, a 

' I 


THE attache; 

wooden clockmaker. * Aye,' sais I, to myself sais I, ♦ who 
wants you for yourself, Sam,' sais I ; * books, and fame, and 
name out of the question, but jist * Old Slick, the Yankee Pedlar?* 
D — n the one o' them,' sais I. I couldn't help a-thinkin' of 
Hotspur Outhouse, son of the clerk to Minister's church to 
Slickville. He was sure to git in the wind wherever he went, 
and was rather touchy when he was that way, and a stupid feller 
too. "Well, he was axed everywhere a'most, jist because he had 
a' most a beautiful voice, and sung like a canary bird. Folks 
thought it was no party without Hotspur — they made everythin' 
of him. Well, his voice changed, as it does sometimes in men, 
and there was an eend of all his everlastin' splendid singin*. No 
sooner said than done — there was an eend to his invitations too. 
All at oncet folks found out that he was a'most a horrid stupid 
crittur ; wondered what anybody ever could have seed in him to 
ax him to their houses — such a nasty, cross, quarrelsome, good- 
»for-nothin' feller. Poor Hotspur ! it nearly broke his heart. 
Well, like Hotspur, who wtis axed for his singing', I reckon I 
was axed for the books ; but as for me, myself, Sam Slick, why 
nobody cared a pinch of snufF. The film dropt right off my eyes 
at oncet— my mind took it all in at a draft, like a glass of lignum 
vity. — Tell you where the mistake was. Squire, and I only claim 
a half of it — t'other half belongs to the nobility. It was this : I 
felt, as a free and enlightened citizen of our great nation, on a 
footin' of equality with any man here, and so I was. Every 
noble here looks on a republican as on a footin' with the devil. 
We didn't start fair ; if we was, I ain't afeerd of the race, I tell 
you, I guess they're got some good stories about me to larf at, 
for in course fashions alters in different places. I've dressed like 
them, and tried to talk like them, on the principle that when 
a feller is in Turkey, he must do as the Turkeys do ; or when 
they go from Canady to Buffalo, do as the Buffaloes do. I have 
the style of a man of fashion, of the upper crust circles, and can 
do the thing now as genteel as any on 'em ; but in course, in 
larniu', I put my foot in it sometimes, and splashed a little of 
the nastiest. It stands to reason it couldn't be otherwise. I'll 

tell you what fust sot me a considerin' — I saw Lady , 

plague take her name, I forgit it now, but you know who I mean, 
it 's the one that pretends to be so fond of foreigners, and tries to 
talk languages — Gibberish ! oh ! that's her name. Well, I saw 
Lady Gibberish go up to one of my countrywomen, as sweet as 
sugar-candy, and set her a-talkin', jist to git out of her a few 
Yankee words, and for no other airthly purpose, (for you know 



we use some words different from what they do here), and then 
go oif, and tell the story, and larf ready to kill herself. 'Thinks,* 
sais I, * I'll take the change out of you, marm, for that, see if 
1 don't ; I'll give you a story about yourself you'll have to let 
others tell for you, for you won't like to retail it out yourself, I 
know.' — Well, Lady Gibberish, you know warn't a noble born ; 
she was a rich citizen's daughter, and, in course, horrid proud of 
nobility, 'cause it 's new to her, and not nateral ; for in a gineral 
way, nobles, if they have pride, lock it up safe in their jewel 
case ; — they don't carry it about with them, on their persons ; 
it 's only bran new made ones do that. 

' ' Well, then, she is dreadful fond of bein* thought to know 
languages, and hooks on to rich foreigners like grim death. So, 
thinks I, I '11 play you off, I know. Well, my moustache (and 
he put up his hand involuntarily, to twist the end of it, as he was 
wont to do, forgetting that it was a ' tale that was told'), my 
moustache." said he, "that was, jist suited my purpose, so !• 
goes to Gineral Bigelow Bangs, of Maine, that was here at the 
time, and sais I, ' Gineral,' sais I, ' I want to take a rise out of 
Lady Gibberish ; do you know her ?' ' Well, I won't say I don't,* 
sais he. 'Well,' sais 1 (and I told him the whole story), 'jist 
introduce me. that's a good feller, will you, to her, as Baron Von 
Phunjoker, the everlastin' almighty rich German that has estates 
all over Germany, and everywhere else a' most.' So up he goes 
a:t a great svvoira party at ' the Duke's,' and introduces me in 
great form, and leaves me. Well, you know I 've heerd a great 
deal of Dutch to x\lbany, where the Germans are as thick as 
buckle berries, and to Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, which is German 
all thro' the piece, and I can speak it as easy as kiss my hand ; 
and I 've been enough in Germany, too, to know what to talk 
about. So she began to jabber Jarman gibberish to me, and me 
to her ; and when she axed me about big bugs to the continent, I 
said I had been roamin' about the world for years, and had lost 
sight of 'em of late ; and I told her about South Sea, where I had 
been, and America, and led her on to larf at the Yankees, and so 
Then she took my arm, and led me round to several of her 


friends, and introduced "me as the Baron Von Phunjoker, begged 
me to call and see her, to make her house my home, and the 
devil knows what all ; and when she seed Gineral Bangs arter- 
wards, she said I was the most delightful man she ever seed in 
her life, — full of anecdote, and been everywhere, and seen every- 
thin', and that she liked me all all things — the dearest and hand- 
somest man that ever was. The storv i;ot wind that the trick 






had been played, but the Gineral was off to Eastport, and nobody 
know'd it was me that was Baron Phunjoker. When she sees 
me, she stares hard, as if she had her misgivin's, and was doubty ; 
but I look as innocent as a child, and pass on. Oh ! it cut her 
up awful. When I leave town I shall call and leave a card at 
her house, ' the Baron Von Phunjoker ' Oh ! how the little 
Yankee woman larfed at the story ; she fairly larfed till she wet 
herself a-cryin'. 

" Yes, Squire, in course, I have sometimes put my foot in it. 
I s'pose they may have a larf at my expense arter I am gone, but 
they are welcome to it. I shall have many a larf at them, I 
know, and a fair exchange ain't no robbery. Yes, I guess I am 
out of place as an Attach^, but it has enabled me to see the world, 
has given me new wrinkles on my horn, and sharpened my eye- 
teeth a few. I shall return home with poor old father, and, dear 
old soul, old Minister, and take up the trade of clockmakin' agin. 
There is a considerable smart chance of doin' business to advan- 
tage to China. I have contracted with a house here for thirty 
thousand wooden clocks, to be delivered at Macao. I shall make 
a good spec' of it, and no mistake. And well for me it is so, too, 
for you have sp'iled the trade everywhere a'most. Your books 
have gone everywhere, and been translated everywhere ; and who 
would buy clocks now, when the secret of the trade is out ? If 
ycu know, I don't. China is the only place open now, and that 
\.'on't be long, for Mr. Chew-chew will take to readin' bime-by, 
and then I 'm in a basket there too. Another thing has entar- 
mined me to go. Poor dear father has been regularly took in by 
some sharper or another. What fetched him here was a letter 
from a swindler (marked private), tellin' him to send five pounds 
and he'd give him tidin's of a fortin and a title. Well, as soon 
as he got that, he writes agin, and tells him of his title and 
estates, so plausible, it actilly took me in when I fust heard of it. 
Then he got him over here, and bled him till he couldn't bleed no 
longer, and then he absquotilated. The story has got wind, and 
it makes me so dandry, I shall have to walk into some o' them 
folks here afore I 've done, if I stay. Father is most crazy ; 
sometimes he is for settin' the police to find the feller out, that he 
may shoot him ; and then he says it 's every word true, and the 
man is only absent in s'archin' out record. I'm actilly afraid 
he '11 go mad, he acts,, and talks, and frets, and raves, and carries 
on so. I hope they won't get the story to home to Slickville ; I 
shall never hear the last of it if they do. 

" Minister, too, is gettin' oueasy ; he sais he is too far away 




from home, for an old man like him ; that his heart yearns arter 
Slickville ; that here he is a-doin' o* notliin,* and that although 
he couldn't do much there, yet he could try to, and the very 
attempt would be acceptable to his Heavenly Master. What a 
brick he is ! ain't he ? it will be one while afore they see his like 
here agin, in these clearin's, I know. 

" Yes, all things have their flood and their ebb. It*s ebb tide 
here now. I have floated up stream smooth and grand ; now 
it's a turn of the tide ; if I stay too long, I shall ground on the 
flats, and I 'm for up killock and ofl^, while there is water enough 
to clear the bars and the shoals. 

" Takin' the earliest tide, helps you to go furdest up the river ; 
takin' the earliest ebb makes you return safe. A safe voyage 
shows a good navigator and a good pilot. I hope on the voyage 
of life I shall prove myself both ; but to do so, it is necessary to 
keep about the sharpest look-out for ' the Ebb Tide.' " 




Our arrangements having been all finished, we set out from 
London, and proceeded to Liverpool, at which place my friends 
were to embark for America. For many miles after we left 
London, but little was said by any of the party. Leaving a town 
that contained so many objects of attraction as London, was a 
great trial to Mr. Slick ; and the separation of our party, and the 
termination of our tour, pressed heavily on the spirits of us all, 
except the Colonel. He became impatient at last at the continued 
silence, and turning to me, asked me if ever I had been at a 
Quaker meeting, "because if you haven't," ^he said, "you had 
better go there, and you will know what it is to lose the use of 
your tongue, and that's what I call experimental philosophy. 
Strange country this. Minister, ain't it? How shockin' full of 
people, and bosses, and carriages, and what not, it is. It ought 
to be an amazin' rich country, but I doubt that," 

" It's not only a great country, but a good country, Colonel," 
he replied. " It is as good as it is great, and its greatness in my 
opinion, is founded on its goodness. * Thy prayers and thy alms 
have come up as a memorial for thee before God.' " 


THE attache; 


" And do you raelly think, now, Minister," he replied, 
that's the cause they have gone a-head so ?" 

" I do," he said ; " it's with nations as with individuals : sooner 
or later they are overtaken in their iniquity, or their righteousness 
meets its reward." *^ 

"That's your experimental philosophy, then, is it?" 
" Call it what name you will, that is my fixed helief," 
" The British, then, must have taken to prayin' and alms-givin' 
only quite lately, or the Lord wouldn't a-sufFered them to get 
such an almighty everlastin' whippin' as we give 'em to Bunkers 
Hill, or as old Hickory give 'em to New Orleans. Heavens and 
airth ! how we laid it into 'era there : we waited till we seed the 
whites of their eyes, and then we let 'em have it right and left. 
They hivnt experimental philosophy (as the immortal Franklin called 
it) that time, I know." 

" Colonel," said Mr. Hopewell, " for an old man, on the verge 
of the grave, exulting over a sad and stern necessity like that 
battle, — for that is the mildest name such a dreadful effusion of 
human blood can claim, — appears to me but little becoming either 
your age, your station, or even your profession." 

"Well, Minister," he said, "you are right there too ; it is 
foolish, I know, but it was a great deed, and I do feel kinder 
proud of it, that's a fact ; not that I haven't got my own mis- 
givin s sometimes, when I wake up in the night, about its lawful- 
ness ; not that I am afraid of ghosts, for d — n me, if I am afraid 
of anythin' livin' or dead ; I don't know fear — I dont know what 
it is." 

" I should think not. Colonel, not even the fear of the Lord." 
" Oh ! as for that," he said, " that's a boss of another colour ; 
it's no disgrace to be cowardly there ; but as for the lawfulness of 
that battle, I won't deny I hante got ray own experimental philo- 
sophy about it sometimes. I'd like to argue that over a bottle of 
cider, some day with you, and hear all the pros and cons, and 
debtors and creditors, and ins and outs, that I might clear my 
mind on that score. On the day of that battle, I had white 
breeches and black gaiters on, and ray hands got bloody liftin' up 
Lieutenant Weatherspoon, a tailor frora our town, arter he got a 
clip on the shoulder from a rausket-ball. Well, he left the print 
of one bloody hand on my legs — and sometimes I see it there 
now ; not that I am afeerd on it, for I'd face man or devil. A 
Bunker Hill boy is afeerd of nothin'. He knows what experimen- 
tal philosophy is. — Did you ever kill a man, Minister ?'* 
How can you ask such a question. Colonel Slick ?" 





I, "that 

: sooner 

m to get 
^ens and 
seed the 
and left, 
(in called 

;he verge 
like that 
fusion of 
ng either 

00 : it is 
el kinder 
iwn mis- 
ts lawful- 
am afraid 
low what 

e Lord." 
r colour ; 
uhiess of 
\tal philo- 
bottle of 
ions, and 
clear my 
lad white 
liftin' up 
he got a 
the print 
e it there 
levil. A 

" Well, I don't mean no offence, for I don't suppose you did ; 
but I jist want you to answer, to show you the experimental philo- 
sophy of the thing." 

"Well, Sir, I never did." 

"Did you ever steal ?" 

"Never." * y. 

*' Did you ever bear false witness agin your neighbour?" •** 

" Oh ! Colonel Slick, don't go on that way." 

"Well, oncet more ; did you ever covet your neighbour's wife? 
tell me that now ; nor his servant, nor his maid ? — As to maidens, 
I suppose it's so long ago, you are like myself that way — you 
don't recollect?— Nor his boss, nor his ox, nor his rifle, nor any- 
thin' that's his ? — Jim Brown, the black preacher, says there aint 
no asses to Slickville." 

" He was under a mistake. Colonel," said Mr. Hopewell. 
" He was one himself, and if he had searched he would have 
found others." 

" And therefore he leaves 'em out, and puts in the only thing 
he ever did envy a man, and that's a good rifle." 

" Colonel Slick," said Mr. Hopewell, "when I say this style of 
conversation is distasteful to me, I hope you will see the propriety 
of not pursuing it any further." 

" You don't onderstand me. Sir, that's the very thing I'm goin' 
to explain to you by experimental philosophy. Who the devil would 
go to offend you. Sir, intentionally ? I'm sure I wouldn't, and you 
know that as well as I do ; and if I seed the man that dare do it, 
I'd call him out, and shoot him as dead as a herrin'. I'll be 
cussed if I wouldn't. Don't kick afore you're spurred, that v/ay. 
Well, as I was a-sayin', you never broke any of the command- 
ments in all your life — " 

" I didn't say that, Sir ! far be such presumption from me. I 
never — " 

" Well, you may a-bent some o' them considerable, when you 
was young ; but you never fairly broke one, I know," 

"Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, with an imploring look, "this is 
very disagreeable — very." 

"Let him be," said his son, " he don't mean no harm — it's 
only his way. Now, to my mind, a man ought to know by 
experimental philosophy them things ; and then, when he talked 
about stings o' conscience, and remorse, and so on, he'd talk 
about somethin' he knowed. — You've no more stings o' conscience 
than a baby has — you don't know what it is. You can preach up 
the pleasure of bein' good better nor any man I ever seed, because 

c c 






you know that, and nothin' else — its all flowers, and green fields, 
and purlin' streams, and shady groves, and singin' birds, and sunny 
spots, and so on with you. You beat all when you git off on that 
key ; but you can't frighten folks out of their seventeen sinses, 
about scorpion whips, and vultur's tearin' hearts open, and tor- 
ments of the wicked here, and the damned hereafter. You can't 
do it to save your soul alive, 'cause you hante got nothin' to 
repent of ; you don't see the bloody hand on your white breeches 
— you hante j^ot experimental philosophy." 

" Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, who availed himself of a slight 
pause in the Colonel's " experimental philosophy," to change the 
conversation ; " Sam, these cars run smoother than ours ; the fit- 
tings, too, are more complete." 

'* I think them the perfection of travellin'." 

'*Now, there was Ralph Maxwell, the pirate," continued the 
Colonel, " that was tried for forty-two murders, one hundred 
high sea robberies, and forty ship burnin's, at New Orleans, con- 
demned and sentenced to be hanged — his hide was bought, on 
spekilation of the hangman, for two thousand dollars, for razor- 
straps, bank-note books, ladies' needle-cases, and so on. Well 
he was pardoned jist at the last, and people said he paid a good 
round sum for it : but the hangman kept the money ; he said he 
was ready to deliver his hide, accordin' to barg'in, when 
he was hanged, and so he was, I do suppose, when he 
was hanged. Well, Ralph was shunned by all fashionable 
society, in course ; no respectable man would let him into 
his house, unless it was to please the ladies as a sight, and 
what does Ralph do — why he went about howlin', and yellin', and 
screamin,' like mad, and foamin' at the mouth for three days, 
and then said he was convarted, and took up preachin' . Well, 
folks said, the greater the sinner, the greater the saint, and they 
follered him in crowds — every door was open to him, and so was 
every puss, and the women all went mad arter him, for he was 
a horrid handsum man, and he took the rag off quite. That man 
had experimental philosophy — that is, arter a fashion. He come 
down as far as our State, and I went to hear him. Oh ! he told 
such beautiful anecdotes of pirates and starn chases, and sea-fights, 
and runnin' off with splenderiferous women, and of barrels of gold, 
and hogsheads of silver, and boxes of diamon's, and bags of pearls, 
that he most turned the young men's heads — they called him the 
handsum young convarted pirate. When a man talks aoout what 
he knows, I call it experimental philosophy. 

" Now, Minister, he warn't a right man you know — he was a 




en fieldst 
nd sunny 
f on that 
n rinses, 
and tor- 
ou can't 
3thin' to 

a slight 
ange the 
; the fit- 

nued the 
ans, con- 
ught, on 
:or razor- 
, Well 
d a good 
e said he 
a, when 
ivhen he 
lim into 
l^ht, and 
llin' , and 
•ee days, 
. Well, 
md they 
id so was 

he was 
'hat man 
Ele come 
! he told 
i of gold, 
)f pearls, 

him the 
out what 

he was a 

villain, and only took to prc«i liin' to make money, and, there- 
fore, instead of frightenin' folks out of their wits, as he would 
a-done if he'd been frightened himself, and experienced repent- 
ance, he allured 'em a'most ; he didn't paint the sin of it, he 
painted the excitement. 1 sc^d at onci , with half an eye, where 
the screw was loose, and it proved right — for as soon as he raised 
fifty thousand dollars by preachin', he fitted out another pirate 
vessel, and was sunk fightin' a British man-o'-war ; but he might 
have been a great preacher, if his heart had raelly been in the 
right place, 'cause his experimental philosophy was great ; and, by 
the bye, talkin' of experimental puts me in mind of practical 
philosophy. Lord ! I shall never forget old Captain Polly, of 
Nantucket : did you ever hear of him, Squire ? In course he was 
a captain of a whaler. He was what he called a practical man ; 
he left the science to his oflicers, and only sailed her, and 
managed things, and so on. He was a mighty droll man, and 
p'raps as great a pilot as ever you see a'most ; but navigation he 
didn't know at all ; so when the oflicers had their glasses up at 
twelve o'clock to take the sun, he'd say, ' Boy,' — * Yes, Sir.' 
' Hand up my quadrant,' and the boy 'd hand up a large square 
black bottle full of gin. ' Bear a-hand you young rascal,' he'd 
say, • or I shall lose the obsarvation,' and he'd take the bottle 
with both hands, throw his head back, and turn it butt eend up 
and t'other eend to his mouth, and pretend to be a-lookin' at the 
sun ; and then, arter his breath give out, he'd take it down and 
say to officer, ' Have you had a good obsarvation to-day ?' ' Yes, 
Sir.' • So have I,' he'd say, a-smackin' of his lips — ' a capital 
one, too.* * Its twelve o'clock. Sir.' • Very well, make it so.' 
Lord ! no soul could help a-larfin', he did it all so grave and 
sarious ; he called it practical philosophy." 

" Hullo ! what large place is this, Sam V* 

"Birmingham, Sir." 

" How long do we stop ?" 

"Long enough for refreshment, Sir." 

" Come, then, let's take an obsarvation out of the black bottle, 
like Captain Polly. Let 's have a turn at Practical Philosophy ; 
I think we've had enough to-day of Experimental Philosophy." 

While Mr. Slick and his father were " taking obsarvations," 
I walked up and down in front of the saloon with Mr. Hopewell. 
" What a singular character the Colonel is !" he said ; " he is 
one of the oddest compounds I ever knew. He is as brave and as 
honourable a man as ever lived, and one of the kindest- hearted 
creatures I ever knew. Unfortunately, he is very weak ; and 

c c 2 



having accidentally been at Bunker Hill, has had his head turned, 
as being an Attache has affected Sam's, only the latter' s good 
sense has enabled him to recover from his folly sooner. I have 
never been able to make the least impression on that old man. 
Whenever I speak seriously to him, he swears at me, and says 
he '11 not talk through his nose for me or any Preacher that ever 
trod shoe-leather. He is very profane, and imagines, foolish old 
man as he is, that it gives him a military air. That he has ever 
had any compunctuous visitations, I never knew before to-day, 
and am glad he has given me that advantage, I think the bloody 
hand will assist me in reclaiming him yet. He has never known 
a day's confinement in his life, and has never been humbled by 
sickness. He is, of course, quite impenetrable. I shall not 
forget the hloody hand — it may, with the blessing of God, be 
sanctified to his use yet. That is an awful story of the pirate, is 
it not ? What can better exemplify the necessity of an Estab- 
lished Church than the entrance of such wicked men into the 
Temple of the Lord ? Alas ! my friend, religion in our country, 
bereft of the care and protection of the state, and left to the 
charge of uneducated and often unprincipled men, is, I fear, fast 
descending into little more than what the poor old Colonel would 
call, in his thoughtless way, * Experimental Philosophy.'' " 



Having accompanied Mr. Slick on board of the 'Great 
Western," and seen every preparation made for the reception 
and comfort of Mr. Hopewell, we returned to the " Liner's 
Hotel," and ordered an early dinner. It was a sad and melan- 
choly meal. It was not only the last I should partake of with 
ray American party in England, but in all human probability the 
last at which we should ever be assembled. After dinner Mr. 
Slick said : " Squire, you have often given me a good deal of 
advice, free gratis. Did ever I flare up when you was walkin' it 
into me 1 Did you ever see me get mad now, when you spoke to 
me ?" 

" Never," I said. 

" Gut'ss not," he replied. "I reckon I've seed too much of 
the world for that. Now don't you go for to git your back up, 



id turned, 
er's good 
. I have 
old man. 
, and says 
that ever 
foolish old 
B has ever 
:e to-day, 
ihe bloody 
'er known 
mbled by 
shall not 

God, be 
I pirate, is 
an Estab- 
i into the 
r country, 
eft to the 

fear, fast 
inel would 

ie ' Great 
" Liner's 
ad melan- 
e of with 
ability the 
inner Mr. 
3d deal of 
walkin' it 
u spoke to 

much of 
r back up, 

if I say a word to you at partin'. You won't be offended, will 

" Certainly not," I said; "I shall be glad to hear whatever 
you have to say." 

"Well then," said he, "I don't jist altogether like the way 
you throw away your chances. It ain't every colonist has a 
chance, I can tell you, for you are all out of sight and out of 
mind, and looked down upon from every suckin' subaltern in a 
marchin' regiment, that hante got but two idees, one for eatin' 
and drinkin', and t' other for dressin' and smokin', up to a Parlia- 
ment man, that sais, ' Nova Scotia — what's that? is it a town in 
Canady, or in Botany Bay?' Yes, it ain't often a colonist gits a 
chance, I can tell you, and especially such a smart one as you 
have. Now jist see what you do. When the "Whigs was in 
office, you jist turned to and said you didn't like them nor their 
principles — that they warn't fit to govern this great nation, and 
so on. That was by the way of curryin' favour, I guess. Well, 
when the Consarvatives come in, sais you, they are neither chalk 
nor cheese, I don't like their changing their name: they are leetle 
better nor the Whigs, but not half so good as the Tories. Capital 
way of makin' friends this, of them that's able and willin' to sarve 
you, ain't it ? Well then, if some out-and-out old Tory boys like 
yourself were to come in, I'll bet you a goose and trimmin's that 
you 'd take the same crotchical course agin. * Oh !' you 'd say, 
* I like their principles, but I don't approve of their measures ; 
I respect the party, but not those men in power.' I guess you 
always will find fault to the eend of the chapter. Why the 
plague don't you hook on to some party-leader or another, and 
give 'em a touch of soft sawder ; if you don't, take my word for 
it, you will never be nothin' but a despisable colonist as long as 
you live. Now use your chances, and don't throw 'em away for 
nothin'. Bylin' men in power is no way to gain good will, I can 
tell you." 

" My good friend," I said, ** you mistake my objects. I assure 
you I want nothing of those in power. I am an old man: I 
want neither office in the colony, nor promotion out of it. What- 
ever aspiring hopes I may once have entertained in my earlier 
and happier days, they have now ceased to delude me. I have 
nothing to ask. I neither desire them to redress a grievance, 
(for I know of none in the colonies so bad as what we occasion 
ourselves) nor to confer a favour. I have but a few years to 
live, and probably they will be long enough for me to survive the 
popularity of my works. I am more than rewarded for the labour 




I have spent on my books by the gratification I derive from the 
knowledge of the good they have effected. But pray don't mis- 
understand me. If I had any objects in view, I would never 
condescend to flatter men in power to obtain it. I know not a 
more contemptible creature than a party hack.'* 

" You are right, Sir," said Colonel Slick ; "flatterin* men in 
power is no way to git on ; take 'em by the horns and throw 'em. 
Dress you rself as an Indgin, and go to the cutter, and throw the 
tea in the harbour, as we did ; then fortify the hill at night, as 
we did ; wait till you see the whites of the eyes of the British, 
and give 'em cold lead for breakfast, as we did. That's your 
sort, old boy," said he, patting me on the back with heavy blows 
of the palm of his hand ; " that 's you, my old 'coon, — wait till 
you see the whites of their eyes." 

" Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, " there is one man whose ap- 
probation I am most desirous you should have, because if you 
obtain his, the approbation of the public is sure to follow." 

"Whose is that. Sir?" 

"Your own — respect yourself, and others will respect you. 
The only man in the world whose esteem is worth having, is 
one's self. This is the use of conscience — educate it well — take 
care that it is so instructed that its judgment is not warped by 
prejudice, blinded by superstition, nor flattered by self-conceit. 
Appeal to it, then, in all cases, and you will find its decision in- 

" I like the course and the tone you have adopted in your works, 
and now that you have explained your motives, I like them also. 
Respect yourself — I recommend moderation to you though, Squire, 
— ultra views are always bad. In medio tutissimus ihis is a maxim 
founded on great good sense, for the errors of intemperate parties 
are so nearly alike, that, in proverbial philosophy, extremes are 
said to meet. Nor is it advisable so to express yourself as to 
make enemies needlessly. It is not imperative always to declare 
the truth, because it is not always imperative to speak. The 
rule is this — Never say what you think, unless it be absolutely 
necessary to do so, if you are to give pain ; but on no account 
ever say what you do not think, either to avoid inflicting pain, to 
give pleasure, or to efi^ect any object whatever. Truth is sacred. 
This is a sad parting, Squire ; if it shall please God to spare my 
life, I shall still hope to see you on your return to Nova Scotia ; 
if not, accept my thanks and my blessing. But this country. 
Squire, I shall certainly never see again. It is a great and 
glorious country, — I love it, — I love its chmate, its constitution. 

from the 
m't mis- 
Id never 
)w not a 

' men in 
row 'em. 
irow the 
night, as 
t's your 
vy blows 
-wait till 

bose ap- 
j if you 

Jct you. 
iving, is 
ill— take 
irped by 
ision in- 

r works, 
em also. 
, Squire, 
I maxim 
; parties 
mes are 
If as to 
. The 
pain, to 


jare my 
Scotia ; 
:at and 



and its church. I admire its noble Queen, its venerable peers, 
its manly and generous people ; I love — " 

" Well, I don't know," said the Colonel, ** it is a great 
country in one sense, but then it ain't in another. It might be 
great so far as riches go, but then in size it ain't bigger than New 
York State arter all. It 's nothin' a' most on the map. In fact, 
I doubt its bein' so rich as some folks brag on. Tell you what, 
* wilful waste makes woeful want.' There 's a great many lazy, 
idle, extravagant women here, that 's a fact. The Park is chock 
full of 'em all the time, ridin' and gallavantin' about, tricked out 
in silks and satins a-doin' of nothin'. Every day in the week 
can't be Thanksgivin' day, nor Independence day nother. ' All 
play and no work will soon fetch a noble to ninepence, and make 
bread timber short,' I know. Some on 'em ought to be kept to 
home, or else their homes must be bad taken care of. Who the 
plague looks after their helps when they are off frolickin' ? Who 
does the presarvin', or makes the pies and apple sarce and dough- 
nuts } Who does the spinnin', and cardin', and bleachin', or 
mends their husband's shirts or dams their stockin's ? Tell you 
what, old Eve fell into mischief when she had nothin' to do ; and 
I guess some o' them flauntin' birds, if they was foUered and well 
watched, would be found a-scratchin' up other folks' gardens 
sometimes. If I had one on 'em I'd cut her wings and keep her 
inside her own palin,' I know. Every hen ought to be kept 
within hearin' of her own rooster, for fear of the foxes, that's a 
fact. Then look at the sarvants in gold lace, and broadcloth as 
fine as their master's ; why they never do nothin*, but help make 
a show. They don't work, and they couldn't if they would, it 
would sp'ile their clothes so. What on airth would be the valy 
of a thousand such critturs on a farm ? — Lord ! I'd like to stick a 
pitchfork in one o' them rascal's hands, and set him to load an 
ox cart — what a proper lookin' fool he'd be, wouldn't he } It 
can't last — it don't stand to reason and common sense. And 
then, arter all, they hante got no Indgin com here, they can't raise 
it, nor punkin pies, nor quinces, nor silk- worms, nor nothin'. 

"Then as to their farmin' — Lord! only look at five great 
elephant- lookin' beasts in one plough, with one great lummakin' 
feller to hold the handle, and another to carry the whip, and a 
boy to lead, whose boots has more iron on 'em than the horses' 
hoofs have, all crawlin' as if they was a-goin' to a funeral. What 
sort of a way is that to do work ? It makes me mad to look at 
'em. If there is any airthly clumsy fashion of doin' a thing, 
that's the way they are sure to git here. They are a benighted. 



' I t 


obstinate, bull-headed people, the English, that's a fact, and 
always was. 

"At Bunker Hill, if they had only jist gone round the line of 
level to the right, instead of chargin' up that steep pitch, they *d 
a-killed every devil of us, as slick as a whistle. We know'd 
that at the time ; and Dr. Warren, that commanded us, sais, 
' Beys,' sais he, ' don't throw up entrenchments there, 'cause 
that 's where they ought to come ; but jist take the last place in 
the world they ought to attack, and there you '11 be sure to find 
'em, for that's English all over.' Faith ! he was right ; they 
came jist to the identical spot we wanted 'em to come to, and 
they got a taste of our breed that day, that, didn't sharpen their 
appetite much, I guess. Cold lead is a supper that ain't easy 
digested, that 's a fact. 

" Well, at New Orleans, by all accounts, they did jist the same 
identical thing. They couldn't do uiiything right, if they was to 
try. Give me old Slickville yet, I hante seed its ditto here no- 

" And then as for Constitution, what sort of one is that, where 
O'Connell snaps his finger in their face, and tells 'em, he don't 
care a cent for 'em. It's all bunkum. Minister, nothin' but 
bunkum. Squire," said he, turning to me; "I won't say I ain't 
sorry to part with you, 'cause I am. For a colonist, I must say 
you 're a very decent man, but I kinder guess it would have been 
most as well for Sam if he and you had never met. I don't mean 
no offence, but he has been idle now a considerable long time, 
and spent a shockin' sight o' money. I only hope you hante sot 
him agin work, and made him above his business, that 's all. 
It 's great cry and little wool, bein' an Attachy, as they call it. 
It ain't a very profitable business, that 's a fact, nor no other 
trade that costs more nor it comes to. Here "s your good health. 
Sir ; here *s hopin' you may one day dress yourself as an Indgin 
as I did, go in the night to " 

" Bed," said Mr. Hopewell, rising, and squeezing me kindly by 
the hand; and with some difficulty giving utterance to his usual 
valediction, " Farewell, my son." Mr. Slick accompanied me to 
the door of my room, and as we parted, said : " Squire, put this 
little cigar case into your pocket. It is made out of the black 
birch log you and I sot down upon when we baited our bosses 
arter we fust sot eyes on each other, on the Cumberland road in 
Nova Scotia. When you smoke, use that case, please : it will 
remind you of the fust time you saw ' Sam Slick the Clockmaker,* 
and the last day you ever spent with ' The Attache.' " 



fact, and 

le line of 
h, they'd 
e know'd 
us, sais, 
re, 'cause 
t place in 
re to find 
jht; they 
e to, and 
ipen their 
ain't easy 

c the same 
ley was to 

here no- 
hat, where 
n, he don't 
othin' but 
say I ain't 

must say 
have been 
lon't mean 
long time, 

1 hante sot 
that 's all. 
ley call it. 

no other 
ood health, 
an Indgin 

; kindly by 
his usual 
nied me to 
-e, put this 
the black 
our bosses 
nd road in 
,se: it will 



Gentle reader, having taken my leave of Mr. Slick, it is now 
fit I should take my leave of you. But first, let me entreat you 
to join with me in the wish that the Attache may arrive safely 
at home, and live to enjoy the reputation he has acquired. It 
would be ungracious, indeed, in me not to express the greatest 
gratitude to him for the many favours he has conferred upon me, 
and for the numerous benefits I have incidentally derived from his 
acquaintance. When he offered his services to accompany me to 
England, to make me well known to the public, and to give me 
numerous introductions to persons of distinction, that as a colonist 
I could not otherwise obtain, I could scarcely restrain a smile at 
the complacent self-sufficiency of his benevolence ; but I am 
bound to say that he has more than fulfilled his promise. 
In all cases but two he has exceeded his own anticipations of 
advancing me. He has not procured for me the situation of 
Governor- General of Canada, which as an ambitious mun, it was 
natural he should desire, whilst as a friend it was equally natural 
that he should overlook my entire unfitness for the office ; nor has 
he procured for me a peerage, which, as an American, it is sur- 
prising he should prize so highly, or as a man of good, sound 
judgment, and common sense, not perceive to be more likely to 
cover an humble man, like me, with ridicule than anything else. 
For both these disappointments, however, he has one common 
solution — English monopoly, English arrogance, and English 
pride on the one hand, and provincial dependence and colonial 
helotism on the other. 

For myself, I am at a loss to know which to feel most grateful 
for, that which he has done, or that v;hich he has left undone. 
To have attained all his objects, where success would have neu- 
tralized the effect of all, would, indeed, have been unfortunate ; 
but to succeed in all that was desirable, and to fail only where 
failure was to be preferred, was the height of good fortune. I am 
happy to say that on the whole he is no less gratified himself, and 
that he thinks, al least, I have been of equal service to him. " It 
tante every one, Squire," he would often say, " that's as lucky as 
•Johnston and me. He had his Boswell, and I have had my 
Squire ; and if you two hante immortnlized both us tellers for 

y \ 






ever and a day, it's a pity, that's all. Fact is, I have made you 
known, and you have made me known, and it's some comfort too, 
ain't it, not to be obliged to keep a dog and do your own barkin'. 
It tante pleasant to be your own trumpeter always, as Kissinkirk, 
the Prince's bugler found, is it?" 

It must not be suppo^ that I have recorded, like Boswell, 
all Mr. Slick's conversatfons. I have selected only such parts 
as suited my object. Neither the "Clockmaker" nor the 
" Attach^ " were ever designed as books of travels, but to 
pourtray character — to give practical lessons in morals, and 
politics — to expose hypocrisy — to uphold the connexion 
between the parent country and the colonies, to develope 
the resources of the province, and to enforce the just claims 
of my countrymen — to discountenance agitation —to strength 
the union between Church * and State — and to foster and excite 
a love for our own form of government, and a preference of 
it over all others, So many objects necessarily required several 
continuations of the work, and although seven volumes warn 
pae not to trespass too long on the patience of the public, 
yet many excluded topics make me feel, with regret, that 
I have been either too diffuse, or too presumptuous. Prolixity 
was unavoidable from another cause. In order to attain ray 
objects, I found it expedient so to intermingle humour with the 
several topics, so as to render subjects attractive that in them- 
selves are generally considered as too deep and dry for general 
reading. All these matters, however, high and difficult as they 
are to discuss properly, are exhausted and hackneyed enough. 
But little that is new can now be said upon them. The only 
attraction they are susceptible of is the novelty of a new dress. 
That I have succeeded in rendering them popular by clothing 
them in the natural language, and illustrating them by the humour 
of a shrewd and droll man like Mr. Slick, their unprecedented 
circulation on both sides of the Atlantic, leaves me no room to 
doubt, while I am daily receiving the most gratifying testimony 
of the beneficial effects they have produced, and are still pro- 
ducing in the colonies, for whose use they were principally 
designed. Much as I value the popularity of these works, I value 
their utility much higher, and of the many benefits that have 
accrued to myself as the author, and they have been n^ost nume- 
rous, none have been so grateful as that of knowing that " they 
have done good." Under these circumstances I cannot but feel 
in parting with Mr. Slick that I am separating from a most 
serviceable friend, and as the public have so often expressed their 

ade you 
fort too, 

ich parts 
nor the 
but to 
raJs, and 
st claims 
nd excite 
erence of 
ed several 
□ties warn 
le public, 


attain my 
with the 
in them- 
>r general 
as they 
The only 
ew dress, 
le humour 
|o room to 
still pro- 
Is, 1 value 
that have 
jst iiume- 
^at "they 
but feel 
a most 
3sed their 



approbation of him both as a Cloclcmaker and an Attachd. I am 
not without hopes, gentle reader, that this regret is mutual. He 
has often pressed upon me, and at parting renewed in a most 
urgent manner, his request that I wotild not yet lay aside my 
pen. He was pleased to say it was both a popular and a useful 
one, and that as the greater part of my life had been spent in a 
colony, it could not be better employed than in recording " Pro- 
vincial Recollections^ or Sketches of Colonial Life." 

In his opinion the harvest is most abundant, and needs only a 
reaper accustomed to the work, to gamer up its riches. I think 
so too, but am not so confident of my ability to execute the task 
as he is, an